


Drawn to the Waves

by LazuliBunting



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies), pirates of the
Genre: 18th Century, Action/Adventure, Angst, Angst and Romance, Awkward Romance, Betrayal, Boats and Ships, Curses, Engagement, Family Feels, Family Secrets, Father-Daughter Relationship, Feminist Themes, Gunshot Wounds, Inspired by Pirates of the Caribbean, Mild Gore, Minor Character Death, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, Mother-Son Relationship, Movie: Pirates of the Caribbean: Curse of the Black Pearl, Pirates, Swordfighting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:33:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26709055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LazuliBunting/pseuds/LazuliBunting
Summary: A look into Elizabeth Swann's mind between the night upon Rumrunner's Isle and the final fight at the Isla de Muerta. Contains: exhaustion, angst, ocean aesthetic, drama. Peppered with quite unladylike swears and notions of freedom (the very thought!). In progress!
Relationships: Bootstrap Bill Turner/Will Turner's Mother, Elizabeth Swann/Will Turner, Hector Barbossa/Original Female Character(s), James Norrington/Elizabeth Swann
Comments: 49
Kudos: 25





	1. Embers

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first published work and my first foray into fanfic. Goodness knows I never thought PotC would lead me here! I recently re-discovered my obsession with it... as well as places I wasn't quite satisfied and would have preferred more drama to action. I have been extremely inspired by other authors lately and so I'm humbly offering my own contribution in case anyone else wants to join me as I dive into Lizzie's mind and figure out what the actual heck is going on in there (I do love that girl).... I hope you enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look into Elizabeth Swann's mind the night she spends upon Rumrunner's Isle with Jack. She considers her current situation, entertains (possibly) some feelings (gasp), and figures out a plan to escape. Contains: exhaustion, angst, ocean aesthetic, drama. Peppered with quite unladylike swears and notions of freedom (the very thought!). Long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Oh wow, if you read all 3000 words of this chapter, I hope you enjoy! You'll probably feel like you've spent the whole night riding Lizzie's personal emotional roller coaster, though hopefully that's a good thing! I promised I edited it down several times but here we go! I absolutely welcome any and all feedback, comments, and critiques) :)
> 
> ****Also, is insectuous a word? Turns out the answer is no. (cue google: did you mean incestuous?) But it sounds like one, so I'm using it. Just going to have to deal.

  
* * * 

Elizabeth Swann dug her toes into the wet sand and it pressed and pulled against her feet, the gentle waves rolling around her ankles. Lacking her usual copious quantity of layers and garments, she would have found herself quite chilled, as the sun had long set and the evening breeze was making itself friendly with the back of her neck as it blew her hair about. However, between the heat of the roaring fire and the effects of the rum, Elizabeth was quite flushed. The crispness of the wind and the water were a welcome relief.

Running her fingers over the smooth, worn pistol, she glanced over her shoulder. _Still asleep._ Letting free a sigh of relief she hadn’t been aware she had been holding, Elizabeth returned her gaze to the dark sea. Jack Sparrow... Until mere hours ago she had believed to be the savvy, invincible pirate his infamous reputation had put him out to be. After all, she had needed little convincing after being used – _humiliated, rather_ – as a pawn in his recent – _and maddeningly brilliant_ – escape (or rather, attempted escape) from the Royal Navy after he had saved her life. But now – here they were, helpless and stranded on this blasted island, the great Jack Sparrow excused for the sorry excuse for a man that he was, all to eager to give up, drink up, and pass out in a drunken stupor. It had been all too easy for Elizabeth to gently slide the pistol from Jack’s breeches as he lay snoring, completely dead to the outside world.

_Some pirate he was_. Or perhaps that was exactly the pirate thing to do – not give a damn about anyone but one’s self. _So… why had he saved her?_ She didn’t entertain the thought, though it did give her a moment’s comfort. At least he didn’t seem intent on hurting her. Elizabeth’s mind turned to his gentle caress by the fire, which she had gently shrugged off, knowing it to be not at all acceptable, _as if drinking rum in no more than her underthings with a pirate on a desert island was anywhere laughably near acceptable in the first place_ , she smirked to herself. She hadn’t felt threatened by the move, but regardless, she wouldn’t be taking any chances. Besides, it had afforded her the perfect chance to inspect just where he was keeping that pistol…

Conniving and infuriating as he was, Jack Sparrow was infinitely preferable company to Barbossa and the crew of the Black Pearl. For the first time in days, she felt the absence of the oppressive weight of danger, the constant hum of adrenaline through her body. But now, something different ailed her. Worry about Will gnawed within, piercing slightly below her heart, so sharp it couldn’t be softened even by the rum. While miraculously, she had been more or less unharmed, and left intact in all ways society would care about, at least, she feared for Will’s wellbeing. Each passing moment brought him closer to the death awaiting him at Isla de Muerta. _How am I going to get off this bloody island?_

Though, she considered, this was much less an island than a sandbar abandoned by the water’s cool embrace. Defeated, and feeling quite abandoned herself, Elizabeth let herself relax, coming to lie supine on the sand, still slightly warm from the scorching Caribbean day. Once more she peered behind her, but Sparrow was still lying by the fire with all the inertia of a heap of rocks. Elizabeth herself felt her body aching for rest and found a twinge of jealousy arising. Of course he should sleep, escaping the worries of the day, of their current plight, while in turn Elizabeth knew sleep would escape her, until she had figured out something, anything she could do.

The sand beneath her yielding slightly to her weight, creating a gentle depression that cradled her body, which she knew by now was covered in a layer of grime and spotted bruises. Not to mention her left palm, still red and angry from the merciful slice Barbossa had streaked across it in lieu of slitting her throat and spilling all her blood. Elizabeth rolled over, shivering in a cold sweat, needing the reassuring comfort of the ground as she recalled the horrifying scene, one of many in the past three days. Her body still shook from the trauma, the fright of her own ordeal. In a moment, her pragmatism took over, pulling herself back up, reminding her she was safe now.

However, this freed her mind to suddenly realize in horror – _Estrella._ _Fa_ _ther!_ _Are they alright? Are they_ alive _?_ Mrs. Lightley and Mr. Worthington, two of her beloved housekeepers, were lying dead in her father’s mansion when Elizabeth had been dragged out by the Black Pearl’s crew members sent to fetch the blasted, cursed medallion. _Who else_ _had they_ _murdered? Who had survived?_

She missed her father dearly – three days since seeing his impish grin that revealed his tender affection for his only child. She missed hearing his less-then-perfect, but extremely endearing, attempts at Bach’s _Well-Tempered Clavier_ at the pianoforte in the evenings after supper (she would know, as she had memorized quite a repertoire herself – and could play with a precision her father deeply admired. After all, what else was a lady to do when she wasn’t permitted to roam Port Royal freely, as she wished to?) He would always make a fuss, saying he was a sore match to Elizabeth’s talent, but she insisted he sat down and played, begging for the chance to listen to him instead. Elizabeth knew the music brought him joy, and she truly loved those precious hours together. Those harmonious, resonant melodies singing into a safe and loving space...

The crashing waves conveyed messages of the vast emptiness, the silence, that lay beyond them – _shhhhhhhh_. Elizabeth found herself praying for her father’s safety, even though her faith was quite shaken. Rising to her knees, a single tear rolling down her left cheek, she wrapped her arms around her meager gown, which looked as dirty and defeated as she felt. _He has to be alright._ She willed herself to believe that he was, but in two night's time had upended her faith in... whom, or what, exactly? _What kind of god, if there truly_ _is a_ _god at all?_

She let her head fall back as she gazed up at the stars, the night cloudless and clear, cold without the radiance of the moon. It had yet to rise, but Elizabeth knew it was coming. She now knew more than she cared to about the nature of the world...the world she had thought she understood. How ghost stories could be true, curses could be real, how her own flesh, flushed and alive with her warm, living blood could – _did_! – have a brush with the bony, skeletal, undead, rotting away among the living world in an eternal purgatory of the damned. What else was out there, unaccounted for by the proper, orderly world she until recently had inhabited? _What other monsters, ghosts, damned souls wander the Earth_ – _worse still, getting their way?_ Elizabeth had to wonder.

She shivered, starting at the evening breeze that pulled at her hair a bit too fervishly, once more bringing her back to the moment at hand. Slumping back down, she grabbed a fistful of sand, letting it slip through her fingers, eager to return to the earth. She envied it, falling fast upon itself, imagining the moment of reunion as the tumbling particles met their grounded counterparts. Would her father be alive and well to receive her?

Twin rivulets of guilt trickled through her heart, carving their way through her concern. In this moment, there was another embrace she longed for more than her father’s. _Will_. She would not rest until she could return to him, save him from the death she had so fortunately been spared. Second, Elizabeth knew that if she asked herself honestly, she was not eager to return to the stifling walls and obligations that awaited her in Port Royal.

Even as she missed the comfort of her home, her father, she treasured the evening breeze, the sound of the rolling waves and the spray of the sea slowly approaching her as the tide moved in, the stars above her, no roof in sight. No door, no gate, no valet or chaperone or damnable corset. Breathing fully. Freely. No expectations. No prying eyes, no whispers of gossip threatening one wrong move, one wrong glance. This was the freedom she longed for… untethered, unbound. Her decisions all her own. Even among these dismal circumstances, it was a welcome blessing. Would such freedom be a part of her future in Port Royal, married to an upstanding, law-abiding, society-bound Commodore? Or would she be back in a corset, shut away night after night, her decisions limited to the mundanity of the four walls of a household?

Three days ago, she had not even thought to desire more from her life. Such freedom was a dream, as divorced from her plane of existence as heaven was from Earth. _As impossible as a match with a blacksmith._ Now that she had tasted independence for herself, life beyond household walls... Elizabeth found herself wanting more. _Expecting_ more.

Her heart writhed again as she thought of James. She knew he cared for her, and until now she had thought she cared for him, too. She knew he would take care of her, that they would be a smart match. Everyone said they would be a smart match. But now… Elizabeth's world had changed so quickly, and irrevocably so. Society, Elizabeth knew, had not, and would not. Even paired with such a kind man, she would feel like a prisoner, just like she had aboard the Pearl - minus the limitless horizon, the fresh and salty air to be gulped, not sipped through the pressure of stays. 

_Though I doubt I’ll even be considered a "match_ _” at all_ _at this point_. While Elizabeth knew her honor had not been violated – she shivered again, thinking of the greedy wandering hands over her trembling body earlier that day when Barbossa had tossed her into the viscous crew, before Will had once again miraculously turned up. She doubted an abducted young lady would be welcomed back into society as an acceptable, “intact,” commodity for the marriage market. _All the better,_ she grinned in the darkness. Her chapped lower lip split into a smile of its own at the pressure, stinging as she tasted salty blood. _Blast._

Elizabeth found herself sighing again, despite herself. Would James Norrington, the pride of the Navy, the most upstanding and honorable man in Port Royal, diligently living by his society’s codes, feel similarly? Retract his proposal? Lose interest in her? Elizabeth found herself surprised at how it stung her to imagine his contempt, for she had always taken his affection and fascination with her for granted. Then again, she had never foreseen her reputation being ruined. As if she could have foreseen any of this.

She hoped that James would want to listen to her, to believe her, perhaps to even care for her regardless of what may or may not have happened. Yet _…_ _A_ _m I spoiled for his love in another way?_ Elizabeth knew that something had indeed changed. _Will._ He had risked his life to save her own, he had found a way to come after her when nobody else had. He had been there precisely when she most needed him. And now, where was she when he most needed her? Sitting on a bloody island with a useless, inebriated excuse for a pirate. Unable to help herself, not caring that she might wake Sparrow, Elizabeth released a stream of choice swears she had recently acquired, kicking at the sand, instantly regretting the act as fine grains flew on the wind, straight into her face.

She sputtered, wiped her face in her arm, pulled her hair behind her neck. Slightly calmer now, she and returned to pondering, curling onto her side. Her hands wrapped around the holster, taking the particularly loud snore from behind her as a sign Sparrow was indeed still sleeping. Feeling safe enough, allowed her eyes to close as her thoughts turned to Will.

If it hadn’t been before this wretched adventure, it was plain as day now that he was madly in love with her.

This was not a surprise, since Elizabeth had more than once caught him gazing at her with ardent affection throughout their childhood, though she had thought nothing of it for many years, as their stations were not compatible, and if anything, she simply assumed he found her impressive, his adoration more appreciative than romantic. As they grew older, she had grown less naive and, despite her attempts to deny the facts to herself less indifferent to his irresistible charm, his gentle tenderness and passion, clearly beyond shallow flirtation. More and more stolen glances, touches of the hand, notes slipped here and there, when Elizabeth and her father would pay a visit to the smithy, where he was clearly becoming both a talented blacksmith – and a dexterous swordsman.

Until now, however, Elizabeth had not allowed herself to entertain the idea of a match below her station, especially not with a man the likes of James Norrington seeking her hand. While James didn’t inspire the same butterflies and blushes Will seemed to coax out just with a smile, he inspired in Elizabeth a different, but no less genuine, affection. While Will opened himself like a book to her, he was still terribly enchanting. Exciting. But out of reach. Forbidden.

While James… He was the expected choice. But Elizabeth could not claim that his companionship – and his ardent, though primly packaged, affection for her – over the years had fallen upon an unfeeling heart. He was predictable and perfunctory, lacking Will’s mischievous exuberance, but James was indeed intriguing, in a different way. A mystery. Closed off, distant… the depths of the ocean itself. She could never tell what he was truly thinking or feeling, behind his perfectly proper and honorable composure… Who was he underneath that uniform? Beyond his duty, beyond the roles he so respectfully played, acquiescing to customs and manners with a social grace that Elizabeth, even _had_ she wished for it, so painfully lacked?

_Did she want to know?_

Perhaps Elizabeth was finding herself less interested than the calm depths of the sea than the tumultuous dance of the waves...playful and unpredictable, soft and easy to feel across the face as the seaspray upon the breeze...

The waves crashed gently upon the shore. The fire behind her continued to crackle as her body completely softened, sounds blending and blurring as her thoughts slowed to a halt and her troubled mind was embraced by the darkness.

_* * *_

  
Rising with a jolt – had she been asleep?? - Elizabeth noticed the sky was pale pink. Apricot light was beginning to peek around low clouds gathered at the horizon, dissolving into wispy strands, giving way to the dawn. A small, speckled seabird was digging in the sand with its long beak a few paces to her right, no doubt finding some juicy, insectuous morsels for breakfast. Elizabeth tried not to think of what may have been making her their nocturnal meal as she shook sand and a few fleas from her tangled locks. _So I did sleep, after all._

_I suppose I’m no better than a greedy pirate. I still don’t know how I’m going to save Will… there can’t be much time_ , she thought, panic snapping her awake again. The panic brought anger, mainly at herself, but she was realizing something.

_Where in the bloody hell is our newly titled Commodore?_ Why hadn’t James come after her? Or rather, because Elizabeth knew he would – affections aside, she was the governor’s daughter, after all, and one simply doesn’t allow _the governor’s daughter_ to be abducted without a search – she found herself angry that the whole Royal Navy happened to be such a disappointment when Will had (well, nearly) single-handedly managed to find her within a day’s time. _I suppose Sparrow has to be good for something, then. When there’s something in it for_ him.

She huffed as she massaged her stiff neck, eyes squinting as a few golden rays made their way through the few lingering clouds. She turned to the fire, surprisingly, still burning, though a meager remnant of last night’s blaze. A delicate trail of smoke curled up and into the quickly warming air as embers began to die out, their sparkling light fading into dark ash. The smoke the last echo of the flames’ lively dance through the air.

Elizabeth felt strangely melancholy, feeling a kinship with the defeated flames. _Well, that’s just melodramatic._ _It’s only smoke._ Her eyes widened.

At once, Elizabeth knew what she had to do.

_Commodore Norrington_ , she imagined saying, _must I do all the work of rescuing myself? I daresay I had higher expectations of you and your fleet…_ After all, it was true. The thought of getting to see the genuine distraught and concern on his handsome face as she teased him made her smile as she made her way back to the fire.

But Elizabeth’s heart was heavy. She knew this plan would not lead to freedom – at least, not to her freedom. She knew she likely only had a few hours left before she would once again be bound by the propriety and expectations of the life she had so roughly been snatched from – _why then, in this moment, did it also feel like a rescue?_ However, this plan was her only option to get off this island, to have a chance at saving Will. For that, Elizabeth was willing to do anything. No matter the cost.

_Sweet Will, I hope you understand._

Most fortunately, Sparrow was still sleeping like a rock. That would make matters easier. _Honestly, that man._

As silently as she could, Elizabeth made her way up to the fire, picking up a large piece of driftwood that had likely been baking in the sun for weeks. _Sparrow_ _’s going to kill me for this,_ she thought, and was especially glad she had successfully disarmed him. _That is, he’ll_ want _to kill me. He'll just have to go mad with the desire._ With a touch of satisfaction, Elizabeth tucked his pistol into the front of her gown, ignited the tip of the driftwood, and crept towards the palm trees.


	2. Back to the Depths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elizabeth surprisingly (..is it though?) gets her way with Jack and Gillette as the Dauntless appears to rescue them. Delicate sensibilities are offended. WRISTS are touched. There is the risk of a lady's leg. And of course some angst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally this was just the first part of a longer installment, but it was getting long again and I wanted to get something out while I continue editing the next part. This seemed like a more reasonable chapter length :) 
> 
> Coming up soon: Get ready to board the Dauntless, where Dad Swann and Angry James are waiting. A veritable rollercoaster of angst. And the threat of leg gets real.

Sure enough, it was only a matter of hours before Elizabeth spotted white sails upon the horizon. _Bless you, rum, you vile,_ _despicable_ _, gloriously_ _flammable_ _drink…_. As the vessel crept nearer, Elizabeth both laughed at her luck and released a whoop of relief. It wasn’t just any Navy ship. It was the familiar, massive, yellow Dauntless, sure to be carrying the one man who would – she hoped – listen to her. If her luck kept up so, she might be able to save two lives. _Well, one. For today, at least,_ thinking of Jack. Her stomach still clenched, worrying about Will. How much time did she have? Was she already too late?

“Miss...Swann?” Elizabeth recognized the voice of Lieutenant Andrew Gillette, his familiar profile becoming clearer as he and a handful of men approached the shore in a longboat. She waved in greeting with one hand and shaded her face from sun with the other, squinting. The effects of last night’s rum, and a solid day and night without food or fresh water were wearing her thin. The bright light was salt on an ever-growing wound of a headache. Piercing, just like the glare she could feel boring into the back of her head.

She turned around, marching up to Jack Sparrow, who indeed was still fuming, sitting on the sand with crossed arms and legs and murder in his eyes. The plume from her rum-fueled smoke signal continued to rise from the grove of palms that lay behind him (well, the few trees that hadn’t yet been consumed by the flames). He had _not_ been pleased with her. _Not pleased at all._ _S_ he understood why. Their mode of rescue would assure a most unwelcome sequel to his recent apprehension by the Royal Navy,

“Jack, don’t make this more difficult than it has to be. I’ve told you, I will speak on your behalf. They’ll need you to locate the _Pearl_. They won’t just hang you at once.” _Ev_ _en if they did,_ _it would be far better than a_ _slow death on this s_ _orry excuse for an island_ , Elizabeth thought to herself. She wished he could appreciate that she was getting them off this island. That her plan was likely saving their lives. _For now._

Independent of any other muscles on his tawny face, which remained still as stone, Sparrow’s black eyes moved up to greet her own. Speaking for themselves.

_Clunk._

Elizabeth turned back to the water – the longboat had reached the shore about a dozen yards to her right. Lieutenant Gillette and a few men of the crew of six were disembarking, headed their way.

“Please. I give you my word.” Elizabeth offered him her hand. He studied it, his head falling slightly to the side, his expression nevertheless obstinate.

Lowering her voice, she tried again. “Jack, you already made the mistake of underestimating me once before,” her eyes darted to the raging rum-fire. She hoped she seemed bolder than she felt, and that he would not retort back with a reminder of how truly helpless she had so recently been, aboard the _Pearl_. “If you won’t trust my word, at least refrain from underestimating how valuable you are to me right now – I need you _alive_ to save Will.” At that, his mouth curled just so against his stony face, into the subtlest of smirks, his eyes on the horizon. Elizabeth was unsure which part of her statement had prompted this reaction.

“My, my, my – I can hardly believe my eyes. Is it not the infamous mastermind, Jack Sparrow?” Gillette was upon them, as was his smugly acerbic satisfaction at re-encountering the man who had only days ago forced him off the _Dauntless_ himself. Elizabeth was shocked to imagine Will taking command of the ship alongside Sparrow (Jack had relayed the whole story to her last night), impressed and concerned for his future in Port Royal, if – when – they made it home. Would death await him there as well?

Three young marines, none of them older than she, trailed behind the lieutenant, who continued his sneering. “Couldn’t quite handle the _Interceptor_? Soliciting help from the Royal Navy so soon now, are we? I shall be quite curious to learn what has become of our favorite ship, mind you, Sparrow.”

“Captain,” Jack muttered softly through his teeth, the first word he had spoken in hours since his brief but potent rage once he (finally) woke to see the stash ( _former_ stash, that was) of rum aflame. Suddenly, with legs still crossed, he sprung up to standing. This would have been a nimble maneuver had he not wobbled considerably, his arms flailing about his sides as he regained balance. Upon doing so, he paused, frowned, and held his right index finger out.

Finding this a perfect time to turn to Gillette, Elizabeth tuned out the sounds of retching behind her and offered a cheerful “How do you do, Lieutenant?” as she faced the four Navy men. She rather enjoyed their expressions of disgust as Sparrow’s hangover finally got the best of him, finding their offended sensibilities added considerably to the smile on her face, which again pulled at her cracked lips.

“Why – yes – hello there, Miss Swann. We are _so_ relieved you are all right – we’ve been searching day and night -“ Gillette recovered, shifting his eyes to Elizabeth, then promptly averting them to a spot in the sand in front of him, clearly horrified to come across the governor’s daughter covered in only a single layer of clothing. _What a_ _scandalous_ _day for them, already!_ Elizabeth would have been truly enjoying herself had her constitution been uncompromised by so many days of such taxing conditions. As it was, she was finding her patience for small talk and wit wearing thin, the pounding in her head and the pangs in her stomach (undoubtedly hunger as well as worry) growing by the minute.

“Are you quite alright? Did he... hurt you?” Gillette signaled to the three boys, who moved to grab Sparrow. Instinctively, Elizabeth stepped back, grabbing Jack’s wrist, which halted the eager lads in their tracks. Five pairs of eyebrows leapt towards the sky. Elizabeth cursed herself – _Wonderful. Now everybody has got_ ideas – and immediately released her hand while retaining the protective stance.

“No, Lieutenant, I am quite unhurt, and I would politely request you treat him as a guest, even if he is to be your prisoner, at least until we have spoken with the Commodore. He carries information the Royal Navy will find most invaluable.”

A tense moment of silence and confusion followed. Elizabeth was unsure how Gillette would respond, knowing full well he possibly carried more contempt for pirates than even James, despite his slightly more relaxed and merry demeanor. His smile often stood out out among the sea of Naval austerity. Now his mouth hung slightly open, his brown eyes narrowed, calculating. Having expected more resistance from the very man from which Jack had temporarily commandeered the _Dauntless_ , Elizabeth was slightly surprised to hear him acquiesce.

“Very well, Miss Swann, if you are _quite_ sure. I do supposed it would be quite difficult to climb aboard handcuffed, though I daresay I’d very much have liked to see him try….And mind you, once we board, it’s all in the Commodore’s hands. Now, if you will both... _accompany_ us back to the _Dauntless_ ,” Gillette kept a cool, keen gaze on Sparrow as they moved towards the water. “One wrong move, Sparrow, and it’ll be the cuffs!... Oh, and Miss Swann, I must tell you - your father is aboard – he has been searching with us, worried to distraction!”

Elizabeth’s heart leaped, her spirits rising. _Father! He’s alright!_ She exhaled a sigh of relief, releasing tension in her chest she hadn’t realized she was holding.

“And...the Commodore?” Elizabeth felt ashamed that she had once again taken him for granted, assuming he would be aboard the familiar yellow vessel as soon as she saw the sails. He could have just as easily been harmed, or worse, the night of the attack. Relief filled her to hear Gillette speak of his superior, confirming James was indeed nearby after all.

“Fit as a fiddle, and I’m sure he’ll be quite pleased to see you safe and sound,” Gillette added, grinning and risking a wink at her. _Ah, there was his usual cheekiness._

The six of them boarded the boat, two of the younger lads pushing them off the sandbank before hopping in themselves, wet past their knees – boots, stockings, and all. As immodestly dressed as she was, Elizabeth was grateful she wasn’t covered from head to foot. She was sure the uniformed men were sweltering under their hats, wigs, and coats as they rowed away from the shore under the midday sun. However, she eyed their shoes enviously, feeling the rough wood beneath her tender, sandy feet. The slippers she had been wearing the night of the abduction were long gone. She had several splinters lodged in her feet from all the running about the _Pearl_ and the _Interceptor_ , and she loathed the likelihood of several new additions. Elizabeth desperately wished she could draw her knees up and sit cross-legged on the bench, but knew such a move in only her gown would likely send the fragile men overboard for overexposure to _le_ _g._ _Blasted society and its horrid rules._ She glanced upon the tiny island as the swaying boat moved away, feeling a strange swelling in her heart. In its way, it had been an oasis. A place where she had followed her _own_ rules.

She also felt a coolness at her chest – ah yes, the pistol. She’d have to be careful if she wanted to keep that hidden – either Gillette and his lads had failed to notice on account of their modesty, or simply declined to comment, which would have revealed their lack of modesty. Regardless, it had worked out. _So far._

“Brilliant idea, the signal,” the young lad rowing next to her commended. “Visible for miles around, that was.” The oversized sandbar became smaller and smaller, seeming especially so against the voluminous plume.

“Yes, it was… Quite impressive, if I do say so myself,” Elizabeth replied boldly. She wasn’t about to assume the lad had been complimenting her personally, nor was she willing to let an incorrect assumption go uncorrected.

Silence fell upon the party. Navigating a conversation with an all but undressed woman appeared to be far more challenging for Gillette than navigating the open sea. Or perhaps he was barely containing his revulsion for Sparrow, instead focusing on their trajectory, watching as the oars rhythmically hit the waves. Jack whistled a somewhat familiar tune, surely one he had sung together around the fire last night. Gillettte clenched his jaw, unwavering, but clearly peeved.

Elizabeth turned to Jack, finding him studying her own expression. He pursed his lips as if holding back a smile, and gave her a sultry wink of his own, no doubt having observed Gillette’s brashness and remembering the Commodore’s feelings towards Elizabeth. She glared at him, crossed her arms, and braced herself for the task that lay before her. _At least there will be tea,_ she figured. T _ea makes anything a little more bearable_. Her stomach rumbled in agreement.

The sun beat down. The water beneath them slowly turned from bright turquoise, to a deep, glittering blue as they advanced into the depths.

The _Dauntless_ grew closer.


	3. Compass Bearings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our protagonist scales the Dauntless in the most unladylike manner and makes a compromise to ensure her return to Isla Muerta. Invovles: extensive eye rolling, leg exposure *gasp*, good ol' fatherly tuttering, and dubious compass bearings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is going to go on a bit longer. I was quite surprised when Norrington reacted the way he did at the end, but sometimes your characters do that. We'll just have to see why in the next chapter! Thanks for hanging in there, WIP-readers <3 I know it's been quite sporadic lately. Apologies to end on such a cliffhanger but there's hope the next part will be out sooner rather than later this time.

“Father!” Elizabeth could just barely make out a familiar gray wig beside a certain Commodore’s tricorner behind the railing on the deck above as the longboat drew alongside the massive ship.

“My child! Thank god you are safe!” Emotion choked her father’s voice, even as she heard his smile. His face was now visible, peering down from the deck. As was James. The commodore remained silent, wearing a perturbed frown directed towards the man sittingbeside her. Jack, squinting up at him, offered a minuscule wave, then perhaps thinking better of it, added a more serious salute.

Elizabeth knew without looking that James would be rolling his eyes nearly out of their sockets at that. _He may be a man of honor, but_ _those sparkling green eyes_ _are on an extremely intimate basis with the inside_ _s_ _of his head._ _At this rate, I could even become jealous._ Elizabeth caught herself. If _he still accepts me._

The two concerned men moved aside as the crew took over, throwing a ladder down to reboard and ropes to hoist the ship’s boat back onto the deck. Gillette motioned for Sparrow to climb first, as two men secured the rope to the bow and the stern of the longboat. Four of the young lads followed behind Jack, having stored the oars on the floor, wobbling a bit themselves as they gingerly made their way to the ladder.

Elizabeth rose to follow, finding her balance, quickly prompting opposition. “Oh, no, Miss Swann, my men and I will climb. You will be hoisted up with the boat. It’s far more proper, and you’ll hardly pose a challenge with your weight.”

Hoping her reddened skin would conceal her flush of indignation – a _s if I were a child_ _or a frail old lady!_ \- , Elizabeth tried to maintain a pleasant demeanour as she smiled back. “As much as I appreciated that, Lieutenant, it simply shan’t be necessary…”

Before he could argue, she swept past him and grabbed hold of the ladder, reaching upwards and beginning the climb, knowing full well this was entirely improper, being both a lady and so shockingly under-dressed. Forget about ankles, heaven only knew how much leg was being exposed as she rose rung by rung. Though the dumbfounded men below would know exactly how much, if they were to look up right about now. However, Elizabeth was certain Gillette wouldn’t permit it. Not with James just above. Either way, she found herself not caring a whisp. She’d been through far more humiliating circumstances as of late, and she was not about to let “hoisted onboard like a delicate flower” become an addition. _Leg_ it was.

“Oh, good lord! Gentlemen – _Elizabeth!_ Really!” She grinned, ascending. That would be her father.

“Gillette!” James questioned his first officer. Or more accurately, _shrieked_ \- his usually resonant voice slipped up an entire octave. _And a half._ Stirred by his undisguised affection, Elizabeth’s heart pounded with a smidgeon more force than necessary. She knew James was less concerned about her ability to climb than with her modesty… In fact, if Gillette was struggling to face her, she wondered how James would fare. She looked forward to the blushing mess that was surely imminent.

“She simply couldn’t be stopped, Commodore! Though I daresay she’s quite a natural.”

The _Dauntless_ was a behemoth to scale, especially with her wounded left hand screaming against her tight grip on the rungs, making the climb more rigorous than Elizabeth expected. At last, her feet rose to find purchase beside her hands on the edge of the deck. Meaning to hoist herself over, Elizabeth suddenly found herself in the sturdy arms of Commodore James Norrington as he lowered her onto the deck. For a split instant, they remained embraced, Elizabeth feeling a strong and tender hand supporting her head and a warm arm around her torso. She met his green eyes, a most endearing mixture of concern, relief, and… amusement?

“That was quite unnecessary, Miss Swann. We would have saved you the trouble.” James stepped away slightly and scoured Elizabeth for signs of harm – though he immediately became self-conscious, blushing an impressive shade of crimson and immediately averting his gaze. “

“Oh, I assure you it _was_ quite necessary, Commodore.”

“Are you alright?… your hand! - ” He reached out, making to take her injured hand in his own, catching himself at the last moment.

“I am quite well - it’s nothing…” Elizabeth protested, though her hand smarted something awful from the climb. “Nothing some tea can’t fix, perhaps some shade... ”

“Elizabeth, for God’s sake! A woman doesn’t – had you fallen – !”

Elizabeth practically leapt into the arms of her father, quieting his tutting by wrapping him in a tight embrace, nearly weeping with joy to find him safe and sound. His familiar fretting over her lack of propriety was a welcome comfort. Similarly overcome to be reunited with his only child, Governor Weatherby Swann stroked his daughter’s matted hair as she buried her head in his chest. As she pulled away, he cupped her face in his hands and she met his shimmering eyes which threatening to overflow even as they crinkled from smiling. _Were those a few new creases?_ Her throat caught, imagining how worried he must have been.

His jolly face darkened considerably. “You’re injured – what did they do? What happened?”

“I’m quite fine, Father, really. Let me explain everything - ” Elizabeth smiled warmly, though to her utmost shock, shakily. Her body was trembling against her will, completely exhausted, covered in a sheen of sweat from the exertion, which the wind took no time in greedily lapping up, provoking a shiver. Without blinking, James removed his jacket, depositing it gently over her shoulders.

“Thank you, James,” she said quietly. His eyes met hers once more, glittering as they smiled, pulling his closed lips upwards with them. Blushing all the more, Norrington once again steered his gaze elsewhere. Elizabeth tried her best to ignore the fluttering in her heart, sinking quickly with guilt, as she slid her arms through the still delightfully warm sleeves. Now it was her turn to feel self-conscious – c _ompared to Father, I’m sure I look quite worse for the wear._ Between her matted hair and her wind-chapped and sun-reddened skin, Elizabeth was sure she was far from the image of beauty herself. _Perhaps there_ _is_ _more than one reason James averts his eyes._

A throat cleared behind them. “If you lovebirds are quite finished, might I ask for a word with the Commodore before I’m dragged to the brig?” Elizabeth finally caught a sight of Sparrow as her father and James turned around, finding him already cuffed, several officers pointing their weapons at him. Elizabeth wished she could say this was the most vulnerable-looking she had ever seen him, but it wouldn’t be the first time he had been surrounded, outnumbered, and at the mercy of his enemies. _And f_ _lashing that cheeky smile all the while, as if it would help him one bit.._.she had to give him credit for his tenacity. For his _nerve_.

“Would that be thanks, Sparrow, for rescuing you off this obscure strip of sand? I warn you not to test my patience, or I just may reconsider. Perhaps you’d live a few hours longer should I return you to shore.” James’ face, so tender and receptive just moments before, furrowed into a scowl, his voice laced with venom. “And don’t think it’s escaped my notice you are no longer in command of my flagship.”

“Ahh, well, about the ship -” _Bloody fool._ _Not the time_ _reveal that_ _the_ Interceptor _is now resting in pieces at the bottom of the sea_ _._ Elizabeth dashed in front of Sparrow before he could ruin their chances at being heard, conveniently stumbling upon his footfor good measure (this resulted in a quite uncalled for yelp, as he, unlike her, had retained his boots). Governor Swann and Norrington widened their eyes in confusion.

“Commodore, please! I beg you, listen to me. We need Jack Sparrow – please, you cannot harm him. He has valuable information.” _We need him to save Will._

“And what would that be, Miss Swann?” Norrington continued to scowl at Sparrow, who squinted his eyes, his eyebrows straining upwards.

“The Black Pearl. He will lead you to it.”

  
“Is that so, Sparrow?”

“God’s truth, mate,” Jack replied softly, squinting his eyes, his lips pressed together. _Coy little bastard._ He was effective, though. Elizabeth could sense James’ demeanor shifting, his frown softening ever so slightly.

“And why would I trust you?” Norrington questioned, suspicious.

For the first time since their departure from the island, Jack’s expression became deadly serious. “Let’s just say I’ve more to gain than to lose by pointing you in the direction of me old friend Barbossa.”

“Even with the gallows waiting for you?”

“Might as well kill two birds with one stone, aye, Commodore? Should I be knocked down, might I take Barbossa down with me?” Jack’s eyes practically sparkled as his lips pulled to the side in a half-grin. “Just think about it. You get the Pearl, secure the safety of your waters, your port...Wipe out your greatest enemies...and at present, your enemies are my enemies...”

“You don’t honestly believe, him, Commodore Norrington?” Governor Swann sputtered. “This is nonsense, surely! He’s a _pirate_ , for goodness’ sake.”

“Father, we must!” Elizabeth pleaded.

“Elizabeth, I’m sure you’re not in your right mind. You must be utterly exhausted and famished – let’s get you some tea, come now… don’t you worry, darling. We’ll be home in Port Royal in no time – no more pirates.” Her father gently took her arm, pulling her towards the shade under the poop deck.

Elizabeth wrestled free. “No, you will hear me! I will not return to Port Royal without Will – he has been taken prisoner aboard the Pearl and they mean to kill him – tonight!– ”

“The foolish lad has committed piracy, Elizabeth! It is unfortunate, buthe made his choices. We can’t send the Royal Navy out to rescue him,” her father responded, looking to Norrington for affirmation.

“William Turner has recklessly thrown his lot with pirates, and thus, has become one. I’m afraid he must be treated as such. I am sorry, Miss Swann,” James softened his voice. “I would rather not see him hanged by our law.”

Elizabeth’s throat tightened again, tears threatening as frustration threatened to overtake her. “How can you both say such things? He did it all to save _me_. He _found_ me. He _rescued_ me. If it weren’t for Will, I would still be a hostage aboard the Pearl, or even more likely a corpse on Isla Muerta.” She sensed her father tense. “You haven’t even heard me out, what has happened in the past three days, and yet you so quickly sentence him to death whether by pirates or by the law! I did not believe you to be so heartless.”

At that, Elizabeth boldly met Norrington’s gaze. Seeing the distress that crossed his face, she moved closer. This was her last card, the one she predicted she would have to play. Her heart felt like it might snap, pulled in opposite directions. “Commodore, I beg you. Please do this for me.” _There’s no going back now._ “As a wedding present.”

Everyone froze. Silence fell upon the whole ship, nothing to be heard but the flapping of sails. A passing gull cried overhead. James standing there, flabbergasted, his mouth slightly open.

“If…if you’ll still have me,” Elizabeth added weakly, wondering if James had indeed reconsidered.

“Shoo, now! Doesn’t anyone on this ship have work to do?” Governor Swann sounded practically giddy as he hustled about the veritable crowd of marines that that had gathered around the scene.

James snapped out of his bewilderment, taking her chapped hands in his own, gingerly cradling her injured palm. “Elizabeth…Of course...” He studied her face, his own still quite confused, unbothered by the action around them. Elizabeth felt as if her very soul might be consumed by those eyes, as deep as the sea.

“I owe it to Will to save him. He saved my life. I will not stand by and watch him lose his. You are a fine man, James...surely you understand that, as a man of honor.”

James sighed. Elizabeth held her breath. At last, he acquiesced.

“Gentlemen, lower your weapons.” Sparrow prayered his cuffed hands, offering a bow of the head to Elizabeth, then Norrington, whose eyes once again threatened to roll right out of his head. “I suppose you will be needing that ridiculous compass of yours, then, Sparrow?” Norrington nodded to one of the officers guarding Jack, who presented the compass, no doubt appropriated from Jack’s trousers once he had arrived on deck.

The lad made to place the compass in Jack’s open palms (well, as open as they could be with his wrists cuffed), but either by accident, callousness on the part of the lad, or a convenient lack of muscle tone in Jack’s hands, the compass slipped, hurtling towards the deck. Elizabeth panicked, knowing this compass was her only chance at returning to Isla Muerta, at saving Will, and lunged down, blessedly catching the precious box.

Unfortunately, this proved to be simply too much for the pistol which had until now been hidden safely away in her chest, which came spilling out onto the deck, spinning to a stop in front of Jack’s boots.

“Elizabeth! Good God!” Her father exclaimed while Norrington delicately picked the pistol up – was that another look of amusement? However, Elizabeth focused on the compass, opening it with curiosity before returning it to Sparrow. She had never seen it function herself, only seen James’ reaction to it, four days earlier.

Indeed, it did not point north. It spun towards James, holding the pistol, pausing momentarily before spinning towards the sea, gleaming in the midday sun. The arrow decided on another direction altogether, and again, again. And back to James. Back to the sea. She furrowed her brow, looking up at Jack in confusion.

He was decidedly... _smirking._ “Don’t worry, love, it works if you know how to use it. But you have to know what you want.” He opened his palms again, waiting. Elizabeth sighed in exasperation and handed over the compass.

“That’s enough,” Norrington’s patience was clearly wearing thin. “Lieutenant Gillette, please accompany Sparrow to the helm. Sparrow, you will provide our bearing, and you will otherwise stay out of the way until you receive further orders. Gentlemen, prepare for battle. Oh, and Irwin – please, if you will, fetch some refreshment for Miss Swann and _our prisoner of honor_. They are surely famished.”

Elizabeth breathed a sigh of release. _We’re coming, Will…_

As the men moved about the ship, Elizabeth caught a sly wink from Jack as he was escorted up the stairs to the poop deck. She managed a meager smile, feeling a sense of solidarity, grateful that Jack had not tried anything rash and had surprisingly behaved himself rather well. Not that he had had many other options.

She turned back to her father, who was still barely concealing his impish grin as they moved into the shade under the deck, out of the bright sun. James approached the Governor and his daughter, offering Elizabeth back the pistol at the renewed tutting of her Father.

“You may still need this…” He gently placed it in her uninjured hand. “Though I pray not.” Elizabeth nodded in thanks. “You may retire in my quarters – “ she protested, but he continued, “I insist. You will be more comfortable.”

He opened the frosted glass door that stood in between them, then paused, looking distressed again. Out of the corner of her eye, Elizabeth saw her father suddenly finding something fascinating on the stairs moving out of sight. _Out of the way..._

Her eyes flashed green against the flood of darkness, still adjusting from the sunny deck as she avoided James’ earnest eyes by peering into in the Dauntless’ spacious captain’s quarters. It was surprisingly familiar, despite it being years since she had snuck inside to explore as a child on the crossing from England. She wondered if James remembered catching her red-handed, having made herself comfortable in the plushy-backed chair, pouring over the navigational charts upon the captain’s desk… How, after scolding her severely, he had softened, risking a few precious moments to explain the numbers and angles. How he had promised to help her practice calculating their latitude later that night when the stars were out, _if_ she behaved herself. All in all, quite a fair compromise.

She compared it to compromise she was now determined to make herself. _Of_ herself. Elizabeth could find not fairness at all in it – not to herself, nor to Will, who would be as heartbroken as she was, though at least he would be alive. And heartbroken, to what end? _There_ _is_ _no future for_ _us_ _in Port Royal._ _Best to put an end to things now._ Elizabeth was drawn out of her brooding reverie by James’ voice, uncharacteristically tremulous.

“Elizabeth. What you said…” His brows knitted into the most concerning expression, causing Elizabeth’s heart to strain again. She hated this. Above all, this compromise was unfair to James. Such a kind, honest man deserved far better than the likes of her.

“Miss Swan, I’m afraid I cannot accept you.”


	4. Captain's Quarters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The long-awaited, "Okay, James Norrington, WTF???!f" chapter. The Angstiest (and longest) yet. And we're hangry here, people. Can we get some tea in this girl?
> 
> This chapter is written especially for, and to, my Norrifam sisters: Elle, Maggie. Bea-Sim, Katy, Victoria, and Sarah. With love to you all - you make my days brighter and make me feel seen and loved. I wouldn't be so inspired to create without your support and passion. Our communion is sacred! In Angst We Trust <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter went through so many iterations (thus the long wait), and would likely have just kept changing but this version felt right. If it feels angsty to read, just imagine writing it (AHH!) Honestly, I think James wished he took that decanter with him upstairs, this whole ordeal seems like an occasion for daydrinking. Not on duty, though! Up next (? yikes there's no stopping now, I really thought this was only going to be three chapters, what a JOKE!): Some James and Sparrow bantering abovedecks, Elizabeth escapes, and we finally get some Will in the action.
> 
> THANK YOU SO MUCH everyone for your comments and feedback! Hearing from my readers means so much to me. Just knowing that anyone has enjoyed my take on this story inspires me to keep going and not just keep these crazy ideas rolling around fruitlessly in my own head.

* * * 

Now it was Elizabeth’s turn to be dumbfounded, her small mouth agape and unable to stop a sudden influx of air. Her reaction seemed to pain James greatly, as his lips clamped upon themselves as much as her own hung open, his brow furrowed with guilt. Guilt and… Elizabeth felt as if she might be ill. _Pity._

Elizabeth flushed scarlet and was overcome by a wave of nausea. _How could I be so foolish? So naïve? No matter what happened, I am damaged goods, just by the mere suspicion of my honor…_ She found herself unable to speak as her mind reeled, making her dizzy. _James_ _was_ _interested in my hand to elevate his status, because I am the governor’s daughter… Perhaps that’s the only reason he’s showed me any kindness…_ _Of course, he wouldn’t have rejected me_ _in front of_ _a crowd…_

She chided herself for believing she was the only person capable of charming her way to get what she wanted. And James was one of the smartest men she knew. The thought of his intelligence as duplicitous rather than utterly earnest and honest, as she had unquestionably believed, provoked a shiver. The last three days had shattered much of her understanding of reality – why would her faith in James’ steadfast moral character, the one he had always exhibited around her, remain undamaged? _Just another thing I was wrong about..._ _another facade..._

As quickly as the blush of disappointment and shame had permeated her body, a smoldering indignation rose to replace it. _So, that’s how it is?_ _Spoiled goods, then?_ _–_ _The_ _nerve! To insinuate –_

As if reading the thoughts burning through her fiery eyes, James sputtered, immediately countering his initial blow. “Oh...No! No. Good God, Elizabeth, I am so sorry. I – of course I don’t mean –“

Elizabeth listened intently, staring him down. Waiting. She decided it seemed a good sign that he couldn’t seem to help using her given name. James, unable to speak what the two of them understood, seemed to forget himself, a strong hand coming ever so gently to cradle the side of her face as he appeared lost in her eyes. Elizabeth challenged him by refusing to break her equally piercing gaze. Although they were assembled far more intimately than propriety allowed (and, she was sure under any other circumstances, perhaps with any other _man_ , her father would not have allowed it either), Elizabeth felt incredibly distant from the man before her whom she had known for eight years.

“Miss Swann. I did not at all mean to insult your honor, nor would I care about it – only in terms of your safety, and your peace. I respect you far too well, and I know you to be a most honorable and fine woman.” Though battle preparations could be heard above and belowdecks, the world around the shaded alcove appeared to blur, to slow. The breeze coming off the waves itself seemed to busy itself elsewhere, the air around them still and warm. “Nobody can take that honor away from you. Your spirit… your heart remains yours alone to give. To share. I would never assume to possess that – to possess you – as your husband.” James’ eyes fell to the smooth, polished deck underfoot, withdrawing his hand from her face as it came to wrap around his opposite wrist behind him. “Your love, should I be deserving of it, would be the greatest gift... the sweetest happiness I could possibly know.”

Elizabeth’s breath caught in her chest. James had never spoken to her like this. So intimately. Valuing the contents of her heart in a world where a woman’s feelings were rarely considered, let alone taken seriously. Speaking of her love as something she alone retained sovereignty over, when Elizabeth had seen since a young age how the sovereignty of a woman’s body and fate lay in the hands of fathers, husbands, or simply the highest bidder. She found herself completely taken aback in surprise and guilty for having so quickly suspected his intentions. The way James spoke, so tender yet so deliberate, made Elizabeth wonder to what extent he had prepared to share them, carefully selecting each word. Had this perhaps been part of the proposal that had been cut short due to that blasted corset which sent her into the sea? Before this whole affair… before her feelings for Will had overflown their careful restraints…

“Though I have long wished to have that happiness… As much as I may hope that my affection might be returned... You must forgive me if I cannot take what I don’t believe is genuinely offered. That which you give so conditionally.” James pressed his lips again, his brow distressingly furrowed and a pained exhale escaping his regal nose. ‘You are no prize to be won, Miss Swann, and I neither pursue you… nor can I accept you… as such.”

Elizabeth’s face burned crimson once more, flooded with shame, feeling exposed. _What must he think of me?_ She turned away, facing the darkness of the captain’s quarters, and James yielded his hand, stepping back. To her dismay, her vision blurred as hot tears threatened to spill from her eyes. _And w_ _hy?_ She was free. Yet Elizabeth did not feel victorious at all. Indeed, she was quite unsure as to what she _did_ feel. James Norrington, so distant and reserved, had just openly confessed his feelings for her, had displayed a deep respect and tenderness she had not expected. _Curse your nobility, James Norrington, and curse my partiality to it._ A nobility beyond that with which had so long been familiar. Will Turner, so warm and affectionate, had yet to lay himself out before her so truly, so vulnerably. What did he want? _What do_ I _want?_ Worry wriggled its way back into her psyche, despite having been momentarily crowded out by the past minutes’ events. _Will, please be alright…_ It was all so much. Unable to stop herself, Elizabeth wiped the wetness off her cheeks with the back of her injured hand.

Thankfully, James pretended not to notice, instead fussing over her hand, his brow furrowed in concern. “Your hand… may I examine it?” Elizabeth tried to gather herself as he gingerly took her sooty hand with its makeshift bandage in his own, telling herself the heat flushing up her arm was from the wound alone. The ship creaked as James unwrapped the cloth Will had so lovingly secured just a day ago, now filthy and frayed from her recent endeavors.

Her skin was red and raw, itching something awful around a burgundy scab that had settled across the sacrificial lesion, cracked and leaking fluid in several places, no doubt from the efforts of her climb. James inhaled through his teeth and wordlessly ushered her into the dark captain’s quarters, beckoning her to sit down at the table just beside the door.

“A moment, if you please. I’ll fetch a new dressing.” James darted away from the open door, on a mission and not to be stopped. Elizabeth slumped down in her chair, wanting nothing more to bury her face in her hands and curl up into the darkness. She settled for hitching her feet up and resting her chin upon her knees, resting the back of her left palm on the smooth mahogany table. _Capital,_ she mused with slight irritation, placing Sparrow’s pistol, now warm, from her right hand onto the table. _Another heart-_ _to-heart_ _over this blasted_ _wound_ _. I’m not sure I have it in me._ She sighed, allowing her exhausted and now surely bloodshot eyes to close. _I’m not sure about anything anymore._

A man of his word, James returned promptly from belowdecks carrying a stack of clean dressing-linens, a bowl, and a pitcher of water. Elizabeth straightened up as he deposited these upon the table and strided towards a wooden cabinet to extract a faceted glass bottle, no doubt containing some sort of alcoholic spirit. James pulled open the curtains of the generous stern-side windows, brightening the room before he pulled up a chair to her left, not even removing his hat before setting to work on her hand.

“James, please,” Elizabeth protested, knowing full well this would prove futile. “You have other duties…”

“Nonsense. Elizabeth, if you had known how worried I was…we were. Miss Swann.” James avoided her eyes, and Elizabeth tried to not be hurt at the return to formalities. “We feared the worst…. It is a miracle to find you so soon, and alive. But I will spare you our trials, out of respect for your own...” He tenderly cleaned her hand, patting it with a damp cloth. “Forgive me, this may hurt.” He poured the spirits slowly across her palm, which burned at the contact, but Elizabeth found it surprisingly easy to bear. She watched the clear droplets fall into the porcelain bowl below, muddied with grime and blood.

“Who did this to you?” Despite his calm demeanor, James was unable to restrain the anger that bristled its way through his shoulders.

“The captain of the Black Pearl… Barbosssa.” Elizabeth was unsure how much information to reveal. About the pirates, about the curse… about Will. _Would he believe me?_ “He and his crew attacked Port Royal looking for a medallion that was in my possession. I…” _W_ _hat? T_ _ol_ _d them my name_ _was Turner_ _?_ She skipped ahead. “I was taken to Isla Muerta, as they believed me to be the child of the original proprietor of the medallion. They needed my blood, you see…”

James examined her, quizzical but not unbelieving. _For now._ “James… these pirates are cursed. Undead. The medallion was a piece of Aztec gold, stolen… they needed to return every single piece to Isla Muerta, complete with a blood sacrifice from the thieves themselves… or those who carry their blood.”

James’ face remained neutral. Elizabeth desperately wished she could discern his reaction. “And…how did you come into possession of this...cursed medallion?” The way he said _cursed_ , though clearly trying to show her respect, gave away his doubts. She couldn’t blame him.

“I took the medallion from Will Turner when we rescued him on the crossing from England. I told Barbossa it was mine, and he assumed me to be Bill Turner’s child.”

James clenched his jaw. Whether because this piece of information really made Will a pirate in his eyes, or because it made the Will and the his lineage the cause of their woe, from the attack on Port Royal to the current pursual of the Pearl, it hardly mattered. Both, unfortunately, were true.

“But you weren’t. And then the Turner boy showed up with Sparrow…”

“Yes. Will saved me. The pirates would have likely spilled all my blood had he arrived any later…”

James inhaled sharply again. _Oh dear_ , thought Elizabeth. _And then the Interceptor…._

“I assume his negotiations weren’t quite successful, then, seeing as a slower death for you was arranged directly.” Elizabeth ignored the slight at Will, simply grateful to avoid the sore spot about his former ship. Perhaps he already knew, or had correctly assumed, its fate.

“Pirates,” offered Elizabeth, softly.

“But why maroon you with Sparrow?”

Elizabeth laughed. “Barbossa wanted the joy of reliving that particular episode, though I doubt he counted on Jack escaping a second time. James,” she added, sensing his anger resurfacing, “Sparrow is a pirate, yes. But nothing like Barbossa and his crew. Jack Sparrow may be a criminal who serves only himself, but he is not a monster. And James… these pirates _are_ monsters. They are not living men. You won’t be able to kill them until Will’s blood lifts the curse. I know this sounds unbelievable, but please be cautious… ”

“Is that so.” James readied a clean strip of cloth, his face kind but unrevealing. “Well, they will have to put up quite a fight to get past the Royal Navy and its finest vessel. Here, now.” As if he had done so many times before – _but of course, he has_ – he gently wrapped the dressing around her hand, up and over and around, crissing and crossing with expertise. Nearly her whole palm was covered, though she could still move her fingers with ease. “It looks like you’ll survive, Miss Swann,” He teased, his eyes twinkling for a short moment. “Did Sparrow treat your wound, then? I’ll have to thank him for keeping you in good shape, much as the thought of that irks me.”

“Oh – no. That would be Will,” Elizabeth responded with a mixture of boldness and guilt. James’ ears reddened slightly, his eyes losing their sparkle. Elizabeth missed it immediately.

“Ah.” He offered a close-lipped smile as he secured a knot over the back of her hand.

“James…”

He met her eyes with his own, thoroughly tormented. An expression she had rarely chanced upon his usually composed, stoic face. Yet equally inquisitive. Listening. A demeanor he had long worn with her, when most others did not. What could she possibly say? _I’m sorry._ No, that wouldn’t be honest. She did not regret her actions, nor could she regret what had been out of her control. _I_ _didn’t know…_ What, then? _How you felt?_ _Your intentions?_ Perhaps she had, better than she had allowed herself to believe.

“The lady’s comestibles in the captain’s quarters, aye, Commodore?”

A thickly accented voice presented itself behind them at the open door. Irwin had returned from below decks with two trays, an impressive balancing act, seeing as both trays were laden with food and steaming pots of tea. Elizabeth cursed him for interrupting, then reconsidered as her stomach voiced its own opinion, despite her inner turmoil.

“Thank you, Irwin. Precisely.” Irwin deposited the contents of the first tray upon the table while smoothly exchanging them for the water and dressing materials. Elizabeth ravenously eyed the first proper food she had seen in days since her horrifying dinner with Barbossa.

“You’ll find Sparrow at the helm with Lieutenant Gillette. Handcuffs _will_ remain on,” James added firmly, scowling.

“Aye, Commodore, right away!” Irwin flashed Elizabeth a good-natured grin across his freckled face and dashed off.

“You’re hungry, Miss Swann, and surely exhausted. Make yourself comfortable – you will not be disturbed. I’ll leave you now.” James rose and moved toward the door.

“James.” Elizabeth rose as well, her voice firm. He stopped in the doorway, attentive once more. “Please accept my apology, if I misunderstood your intentions...I see now I have greatly insulted, and underestimated, your integrity.” She spoke honestly, struggling express her feelings further. Struggling to determine just quite what her true feelings were.

“I do care for you, James. Very much. I always have.” He looked so vulnerable, so utterly defenseless, just then. Elizabeth was overcome with the urge to wrap him in an embrace, to see those soft red lips curve into a smile, out of that melancholy pout that nevertheless suited his slender face. She reached out, but he caught her wrist with a gentle but insistent pressure.

“Please, Elizabeth. Don’t.” Elizabeth felt on the verge of tears once more. _Don’t be childish._ _Just because you ever in thousand years expected a rejection from James, of all people._ She blinked at the bright deck beyond the alcove, hoping the sunlight would singe her tears to Hades. Her father was meandering back to the stern, noticing the couple as they stood at the door. Elizabeth gathered herself, determining how to respond.

“Father will be so unhappy.” _So much for avoiding childlike behavior._ Both James and Elizabeth glanced towards the man in question, who, pretending not to have been watching them intently, promptly saw something fascinating over the portside railing, whistling a little ditty as he leaned over the rigging. Colossal, puffy clouds nearly as tall and curly as Weatherby’s wig were beginning to spot the sky above him.

“I’m afraid so, and I am loathe to pain such a dear friend. But that is something I can live with.” James met her eyes again. “As is extending my help to Turner, if he means so much to you.”

“I… won’t deny it.” Elizabeth felt all she could offer James now was her honesty, as he had offered his. “James. I am so grateful. Thank you for your frankness...for your help.” _I underestimated your heart. Will you ever forgive me?_ “You are without a doubt the finest man I know.”

“Miss Swann.” Though he was taller, Norrington bowed down, witholding his expression from her as he brought his lips to meet her newly bandaged hand. Elizabeth’s heart beat a little too quickly as he moved into the sunlight and started up the stairs.

“Wait! – Commodore?” Elizabeth returned to a formal register as her father was nearly upon them, now within hearing distance. James paused, halfway up to the poop deck, looking unnecessarily dashing in just his waistcoat. The sun glittered upon the gold accents sprinkled across his uniform as he stood against the deep blue of the cloud-speckled sky. His tired face glanced down as she ran up to the railing.

“Might I bother you for a spare uniform, perhaps? You’ll be needing this back, I’m sure.” She wiggled out of his coat and offered it up to him, forcing him to avert his eyes, characteristically using an eyeroll as the means. Leaving him no choice in the matter this time.

“As you like, Miss Swann. Expect Irwin shortly,” Norrington said, the hint of a smile playing on his lips, as he took the heavy garment. His eyes paused momentarily on her bare feet. “Boots as well.”

“Thank you.” Nearly whispering, Elizabeth added one last request. “Might we wait to inform my father of the decision, should he ask? At least until we return to Port Royal...”

“Of course, Miss Swann. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” They shared a look of understanding, hearts both full, before he gave her another nod and continued up the stairs.

Elizabeth’s head pounded. She felt faint. The slight swaying of the ship was doing nothing to help her unsettled nerves. The feeling of having been turned upside down.

  
“Darling, are you quite alright?” Governor Swann reached the shady underdeck, his smile fading. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost!” He took her in is arms again, holding her tight for a moment before fretting over her again. _Ghosts!_ Elizabeth held back a bitter laugh _._ _If only you knew, fath_ _er._

“It’s nothing, I simply am in desperate need of rest. I believe I shall retire now, until we reach Isla Muerta…” _Plenty of ghosts waiting for us there. Father is not going to enjoy this at all._

“Of course, child, rest.” Her father let her go. “You gave the Commodore back his coat…? Might I say, it quite suited you!” His smile returned. “Any… news of importance?” Clearly wanting his hopes confirmed.

“Father!”

“Ah… well… no news is good news, then, is it not?” He squeezed her hands in his and kissed the top of her head as they parted. Elizabeth smiled gently and refrained from enlightening him further, closing the door to the quarters as he turned away, looking slightly disappointed and confused.

_Somehow, that makes two of us._


	5. An Accord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Norrington joins Gillette and Sparrow upon the poop deck to prepare for the evening's attack on Isla Muerta. (Gasp! A chapter without Elizabeth? I’m as shocked as you are.) A pirate drinking tea, snark, and some surprising strategizing occur. Maybe even some emotions make an appearance in the inner world of the Commodore. Also, Jack Sparrow is definitely getting sunburned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost there, everybody. I finally have a grip on where this is going, because I'm also busy plotting my next fic. It's going to be roughly based on the plot/timing/characters of Dead Man's Chest, but if you think THIS story is canon-divulgent (and it certainly is/will be as we move towards the finale), buckle up!
> 
> In preparation for this chapter, I couldn't help but be extremely bothered by the canon version of how Isla Muerta goes down (at least regarding Norrington and his crew). Utter buffoonery. I had to grant some extra braincells to our fave Navy Boy, even if he is clearly not having any of this "curse" nonsense. :)
> 
> THANK YOU AGAIN as always for your presence on, and patience with, this WIP, and all your lovely comments! I still can't believe anyone is actually reading this. The idea of people enjoying these scribbles (even though I spend plenty of time on them bahaha) brings me so much joy. Ahh!!

“Southeast, then?” During the last half-hour, although James Norrington may have felt disoriented in other ways, he could sense the slow but steady change in direction of the ship. His maritime bearings were still in working order, reliable as always. _No disappointments there, at least._

“It appears so, Commodore.” Behind the wheel, Lieutenant Gillette’s usually cheerful ruddy face betrayed none too little suspicion, clearly questioning the sanity of their current venture. To his right sat Jack Sparrow upon a stool, his tray of comestibles upon a box as a makeshift table. Norrington resisted the urge to utter something humiliating at the sight of Sparrow nibbling on his food with his cuffed hands. There was something extremely rodent-like and vulnerable about this image that was satisfaction enough. He drew closer to Gillette, who lowered his voice to whisper and spoke rather intimately with his superior, as he did on the rare occasion he ventured to question James. “He could be leading us anywhere, Norrington. Is it wise?” _Southeast – as far away as possible from Port Royal._ Always so respectful, Gillette, posing the obvious as a question, as if the answer could possibly be in the affirmative. James clenched his jaw.

Jack peered up from his nibbling, his black eyes twinkling against the brilliant noonday light. He put down a crust of pristine, mold-free bread – _look at him, dining finely, at our expense_ , James thought bitterly – and gestured to the compass lying open next to his teacup... _his TEACUP? A pirate drinking tea like an honored guest? Does Irwin’s dedication to hospitality know no reason, no bounds?_ Then again, James considered, glancing at Gillette's still suspicious expression, his own actions at present were certainly unprecedented, bordering on unreasonable. Where _was_ his reason, today? Practically obeying orders from a woman he knew did not love him the way he dearly wished she would… For all intents and purposes, disgracing the institution of the Royal Navy by putting a pirate, however handcuffed, at the wheel. _To rescue the man who already has Elizabeth’s heart. How foolish I was to think… to hope… that I_ ever _had a chance._

James shook himself out of his despair and turned his focus to Sparrow, peering as always, his characteristic cheeky grin escaping yet again, a golden tooth glittering. James wanted to strangle him. Why did this man vex him _so?_ In general, James was quite difficult to fluster, even dealing with the most provocative miscreants. Then again, none of the said miscreants had managed to swindle the _Interceptor_ from right under his nose or had threatened Elizabeth Swann in front of his eyes – his, the Governor’s, and those of what felt like half the Royal Navy. James hadn’t felt such humiliation since… _since…_ reflexively, he immediately brought himself back to the present. _It wouldn’t pay to dwell on_ that, _anyhow._

No, undoubtedly, Sparrow was a special case. His misdeeds felt intensely… _personal_. And thus, James took personal complaint against him. Holding his wrist behind his back as he was wont to do, James nearly cut off the circulation in his left arm to quell his ire. Cunning as Sparrow was, hadn’t James caught Sparrow mid-escape in Port Royal, and hadn’t he just rescued him from the rumrunners’ isle? This time, James would have the upper hand – and maintain it.

“Enjoy that tea of yours, while you can, Sparrow. It won’t be for much longer. While Miss Swann entrusts an exceeding amount of faith in you, for reasons I myself cannot fathom, including this tale of cursed pirates…"

“A… curse?” Gillette muttered with a mix of condescension and worry, standing with one hand on his hip and one on the wheel, fingers drumming restlessly. Only a close friend and colleague like James would have detected the dissonance in his expression as the former tone only just managed to mask the latter.

James pressed on, returning his gaze to Sparrow. "We however, will not extend you the same courtesy. I assure you, if you have something up those feculent sleeves of yours…" He trailed off, his attention caught on the pirate's griminess. He really was impressively filthy, for having so recently been tossed from the _Pearl_ into the pristine Caribbean Sea. Jack took this opportunity to jump in, with a tone serious enough to slightly take James off-guard. Not a single "mate" dotted the pirate's uncharacteristically somber speech.

"Oh, but Commodore, I _do._ In a few short hours, we shall arrive at Isla Muerta, where no doubt Barbossa and his crew will be gathered in their cave of treasure, preparing to sacrifice young mister so-and-so. We'll be entering their home turf. Therefore, a successful ambush would be as unlikely as it would be unwise. How is it you intend to apprehend them, then? And secure the _Pearl_?" Jack squinted against the bright noonday sun upon his unprotected face.

"The crew and cannons of the _Dauntless_ are more than capable of snuffing these… _pests_ out," James gritted his teeth. "We'll wait for them to return to their vessel, then set our fire loose upon them. Those who survive will be taken aboard, and taken to justice in Port Royal." James heard a tut of approval from Gillette.

"Ah," Jack nodded, seemingly impressed. "But the lad. It would please the future Mrs. Commodore to see him _alive_ , isn't that so?" He rested his right foot upon his left knee, and no doubt would have leaned back had he been seated upon a proper chair. James took trouble to ensure his expression did not reveal a shred of emotion at those now untrue words Sparrow had used to describe his almost-fiancée.

"That's where you come in, Sparrow." The pirate's eyes raised, genuinely surprised. "I would be loathe to lose any of my men tonight, and I see no way to manage an abduction to rescue him, when such a plan would just as likely be sending my officers to their graves. It would be an insult to the Royal Navy to risk so much to attempt to rescue one man who has made his choices, no matter how noble-hearted, and no matter how much Miss Swann wishes to repay his favor towards her. No," James continued, walking around Sparrow, whose eyes followed Norrington's confident stride, "I would much rather take my chances on you. Miss Swann clearly does… and should your assignment to rescue Turner fail, it will be her trust you have betrayed and certainly not mine. I highly discourage such a betrayal - perhaps by now you know you'd rather not make an enemy of her…" James trailed off again, surprising himself. _Emotions, rising up mid-sentence - preposterous. Such subordination, coming from within._ But he couldn't stop them, remembering her state of shock only a half-hour before as he gently refused her acceptance. Her assent had for a moment set butterflies afloat through his chest before he had felt himself viscerally recoil, insulted, as he realized her consent did not reflect his own feelings for her but instead served as a compromise… a move to secure something more precious to her. _Someone_. Yet, why did he feel guilty in refusing her a life that would have tormented them both as long as Turner still lived, and clearly loved her? _Have I still somehow betrayed her?_

"Great minds, Commodore… I must commend your stratagem. I'm glad you see some value in me, beyond a weight for the hangman's noose..." Jack took a sip, or more accurately, a swig, of tea, downing his current cup.

"Oh, believe me, Sparrow, I'd just as soon see you blown to smithereens, or done in by your own pirate kin. It makes no difference to me your mode of demise." James' frustrated energy sharpened his words, and he was pleased to see Sparrow's reaction betrayed through his face, however subtle. Did the pirate really think he would be forgiven, granted pardon? Indeed, a second ago, he had sensed real respect from the rogue, which would have flattered him… had Sparrow not been what he was. "In fact, I shall arrange a special guard just to keep an eye…and aim…on you. Should to steer off course, or make for the Pearl, or otherwise attempt an escape, the gallows will be the last concern on your mind. Consider it an… enticement to indeed send Turner back alive. Do I make myself clear?"

"So… you're sending me off on me onesie," Jack responded, calculating, picking up his piece of bread and taking a bite. "Turner doesn't make it out, and we all get blown to bits or clapped in iron, meself included. Say I send Turner back, then. What difference would it make for me?"

James could hardly believe his ears, but he saw no other option. If he had to risk losing Sparrow to see Elizabeth happy, he would do it, no matter how it pained his pride. No matter how close he was toeing the line of disgracing his long-awaited position, mere days after his appointment. "In that case, Sparrow we may just look the other way… And not aim _right_ at you. Not sweep every inch of the island after we've taken out the crew of the _Pearl_ in the unlikely case you escape."

"Sir!" James could feel Gillette's stark disapproval seething off of him. _No matter._

"Understood, Commodore." Jack closed his cuffed hands around an apple upon his tray, tucking in and looking extremely ridiculous doing so. He crunched into the crisp flesh, spitting out the first peel-laden bite. The strong breeze coming off the waves tossed it in a flutter before it fell upon the smooth deck, the burgundy skin standing out upon the spotless boards like a bloodstain. "We have an accord."


	6. Echoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elizabeth awakens to find the sun is setting. Preparing to save Will from a grisly fate on Isla Muerta, she does her hair - wouldn't want to fight with hair in the face, now would we? - and searches through Norrington's ribbon stash. She comes across a shocking relic from the past and is pulled deep into another memory from the crossing from England. It might have gotten pretty deep for a moment, for both James and Lizzie. Then we snap back to action as Jack manages to flatter her, insult her, and remind her of something important. Into the cave we go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This... just came to me? I think it was trying to tell me something? I just felt something really deeply is all. And went with it. In other words, welcome to Chapter 6 of this wacko roller coaster!

Elizabeth woke with a start, her heart racing. She would have jumped out of her skin had her body not felt like lead, heavy and feverish as it slowly followed her awareness back into the waking world, regaining its mobility. Realizing that she had been dreaming - that Will might still be alive, and not a corpse laying upon the glittering piles of golden treasure in that cursed cave, as she had been sure of moments ago - she wiped dry the tears that had spilled down the sides of her face and reoriented herself to her current surroundings as her vision cleared.

The captain's quarters of the _Dauntless_ were quite dark, though the peachy light escaping from the edges of the curtained windows along the stern assured Elizabeth night had not yet fallen. She propped herself up from the curled position she had taken at the very end of Commodore Norrington's rather luxurious bed-cot, re-smoothing the cover before touching the back of her hand to her face. _Hot and clammy_. Her teeth ached, as they always did when she fell into a deep afternoon sleep, and her body felt at once tingly and sluggish. Seeking to relieve a sudden sense of oppression, Elizabeth pulled open the curtains. Rose-gold light replaced the darkness in the room that had still grown warm from the day. She opened the door to the balcony and stepped outside onto the narrow platform, welcoming the chill of the evening breeze pressed directly against her face. _The wind is in our favor_ , she observed in gratitude, hoping this had been the case in the hours she had been indisposed. Pink and red clouds streaked the horizon, framing the setting sun on her left. Elizabeth closed her eyes as she slowly drank in the air.

She paced to the right-most edge of the balcony, then to the left, looking about to see if any islands were visible. _Nothing_. Elizabeth gnawed her bottom lip in worry, accidentally splitting it once more. With a stinging lick, she looked up to the sky above with a silent prayer. _Please let us be in time. Please let my nightmare be only that - a dream._ In raising her gaze, Elizabeth noticed two ship's boats hanging not far above her off two sets of davits on the stern of the poop deck, one on the left and right. She hadn't remembered these smaller boats from her time aboard during the crossing from England… She supposed such an observation had been displaced by more exhilarating memories of sneaking about the deck with a certain boy they had rescued from a sinking ship, whose medallion she had hidden in the hopes of hiding his identity as a pirate. Elizabeth's heart ached for more than one reason as she realized Will likely came after her remembering that she had originally saved his own life, eight years ago. She was as quick to forget and dismiss this vital element of their relationship as Will was to remember it. _Well, here we are again, Will. Father, Norrington, and me, upon the_ Dauntless _. You and your father's medallion. And…_ She shivered at the thought of the undead crew of _the Pearl,_ namely the possibility of an attack, or worse, a siege of the _Dauntless_. _I can't be leading us all to our deaths… can I?_

Elizabeth returned inside and shut the door, slipping her now-stockinged feet into the pair of boots Irwin had delivered to her earlier along with the smallest spare uniform he could find. The boots fit surprisingly well, if a little too wide, and for once Elizabeth was happy her feet were larger than perhaps acceptable in the lady-like realm. _Perhaps I'll have to request some boots of my own next time I'm at the shoe-maker'_ s, she mused, imagining the look of shock upon Mr. Yarborough's face. The poor man. He already had to order, and sometimes himself make extra-large lady's footwear on account of her unruly feet. _No, no, I'll spare him. But wait until I'm with child…_ Elizabeth stopped to question her mind's ridiculous musings, exasperated at herself, though she couldn't help grinning. Then grimacing at the idea of one day being pregnant. _Even worse, s_ he thought, horrified, as she had before, though as infrequently as possible _\- a mother. At least that won't be anytime soon._ While James's rejection had shocked her, Elizabeth couldn't help feeling a deep sense of relief, now she had been able to sleep on the situation at hand. She was well aware that children quickly followed marriages, and she was none too keen on the idea. She couldn't help wondering how James felt, with his more mature age, before she reminded herself this no longer concerned her, and thus was no longer her business.

She pulled on the red coat she had left hanging on the back of the chair she had sat upon earlier at the mahogany table as she moved towards the door, noticing a fresh tray with tea and bread had been left there while she had been asleep. _Bless you, Irwin, you angel of hospitality._ She downed two lukewarm cups, too thirsty to be bothered by her dismayed bladder -- there had been many a cup of tea downed earlier, making up for more than a day's worth of dehydration. She tore into some of the bread, surprised to find herself hungry again. Elizabeth glanced at the ornate clock on the bookshelf next to the captain's desk and its plush green-backed chair. _Twenty past six_. She had been asleep most of the afternoon, and sunset would be within the quarter hour. 

Elizabeth quickly made a visit to the captain's quarter gallery head off the side of the room to relieve herself, appreciating the enclosed privacy she had not been afforded the past few days. Returning to the main room, she caught sight of her mangled appearance in a gilded mirror above James' dressing-table, and decided to plait her mousy hair back. She held the tip of the braid as she hastily scrambled through the drawers of the desk, looking for a ribbon. At last, she came across several in an upper compartment, hoping James wouldn't mind her borrowing one. She wondered what need he had of them, what with that powdered wig, and realized she hadn't seen his own hair in… nearly eight years. _Not that it matters_ she assured herself, securing her plait and out of habit affectionately twirling the end around her fingers, promising herself she would never submit to wearing a wig, even in old age. _No more corsets, either._

As she closed the drawer, something caught her eye. A lavender ribbon tied around a folded piece of paper. Elizabeth was eager to return abovedeck and attend to preparations, and she knew what she was about to do was quite indecent. But she could not restrain her curiosity. Nothing else in this room revealed anything personal about James, besides his love of order and cleanliness, and a few additions to the familiar titles upon bookshelf Elizabeth had often paid visit to during the voyage from England.

No…she had to know. Gently untying the ribbon and unfolding the paper, Elizabeth froze, a memory flooding in.

* * *

_"Father isn't speaking with me this afternoon. He is ever so cross… Lieutenant,_ you're _never cross with me. Even when I'm flagrantly disobedient. Yes," young Elizabeth admitted with a grin, "I am at least aware when I go against the rules. I can be well-mannered and behaved, if I like."_

_"Well, Miss Swann, I must say you have a strong will and a wild spirit about you. You certainly keep your Father on his toes." A younger Norrington looked down at Elizabeth, as they leaned against the rail of the quarterdeck, watching the waves on the side of the ship. The dark water directly below was the only thing visible beyond the ship itself in the dense fog._

_"…Should I be?" Elizabeth asked, suddenly serious. "Better behaved, I mean. More obedient. More…ladylike." She raised herself out of her slouch, into a rigid, upright stance, holding her pinky up and pursing her lips, before falling into a curtsey and giggling._

This must have been shortly before Will was rescued, as Elizabeth was quite shy before the knowledgeable but kind Lieutenant for quite a time. She had forgotten how comfortable, how uninhibited she had ended up feeling around the young man.

_"Lovely curtsey, Miss Swann, though I do hope your future suitors appreciate your uniquely…humorous charm…" Norrington replied with a soft smile. He noticed Elizabeth looking at him with raised eyebrows, serious again, expectant._

_"Well… as I see it, Miss Swann, there is nothing wrong with a strong will and a wild spirit. In fact, I quite admire that about you." Her eyebrows raised higher, apparently in disbelief. "A spirit that shines brightly can be a beacon in a sea of darkness. And a strong will used for good is as precious a gift we men " - Elizabeth grumbled - "and women" - this satisfied her - "are granted. You are blessed with a loving father who no doubt he sees and admires this beauty in you, too." Her freckled face blushed with pleasure as she tried to hide a smile. "If he is cross, it is simply because he is trying to protect you, in a world that…doesn't always appreciate that beauty. As for me," Norrington turned around and leaned his back against the edge, crossing his arms and maintaining somber eye contact with his young companion. "My mother died giving birth to me, and my father never forgave me for it. He made sure I knew at every opportunity I was, and would always be, a disgrace. A failure. Never good enough. For a time I felt no spirit within myself, and as if all passion had been squashed out of me."_

_Elizabeth listened with sympathy. Her own mother had died in childbirth when Elizabeth was four years old, as had her stillborn sister. It saddened her to hear of her friend's turbulent childhood, and embarrassed her to be complaining of her cross, but not cruel, father. "I'm sorry… how awful."_

_Norrington straightened up, trying to lighten the mood. "Not to worry, Missn Swann. I promised I'd prove my father wrong. And I promised myself I would be neither cross nor cruel towards another person simply for how they were born - for who they are. That is unjustified punishment with which I myself am all too familiar. No, it is our actions - how we treat each other - that require careful judgement and consequence. Your mischief and taste for excitement may be trying upon your Father, but I have never known you to mistreat my fellow crewmembers, or seen you act with callousness or malice. You have a good heart Miss Swann, from what I can see. I therefore have no reason to ever be…_ too _vexed with you." He gave her a grin. "Though mind you, don't let it go to your head. Come now, let's get you back to your quarters before your father has me reported for exposing you to the elements in nothing but a day dress…."_

_Later that day, still receiving the silent treatment from her exasperated father, young Elizabeth had curled up with her pencils and parchment, contemplating her exchange with Lieutenant Norrington above deck. Considering her blessings, as well as the ways the world was cruel to people in their innocence - how some people were punished and judged for their nature, their very existence, rather than their actions. How Norrington was hated by his father without having done anything wrong. How women were treated as inferiors to men and given little say in the course of their lives. How the darker crewmembers - or "hands," as they were called, seemed to be despised by their pale counterparts, who threatened and harassed them even as they bore the most unpleasant duties of the ship._ _Elizabeth found herself sketching a speckled bird, perching upon a rose. Recognizable enough - a common sparrow, known to be boisterous, irritatingly chirpy. Unabashedly itself. Back in England, they were seen as pests, a noisy nuisance, unwelcome against the more polite, refined songs of robins, warblers, nightingales. But all they were doing was singing their own song. Once she was quite satisfied with her work - she may have been terrible at portraiture but she adored drawing animals - she added an inscription at the bottom in her very best penmanship._

" _A strong will, a wild spirit, and a good heart. May we breathe unburdened, as we are. May our songs be beacons of light. May we be judged not for what we are, but what we do."_

_She hesitated, blushing at the thought, then quickly added, above the drawing: "To Lt. Norrington, from your friend." Rather than sign her name, somehow feeling self-conscious, Elizabeth drew a petite but unmistakable swan. Before she could think better of it, she folded the drawing and dashed to the officer's quarters, waiting for the coast to clear before sliding it under Norrington's door and scampering off._

* * *

Elizabeth sank down into the green-backed chair. She had completely forgotten this exchange, the drawing, the note. Any expectations she had had for a response from her Lieutenant friend had surely been swept away, or no longer of great interest compared to her curiosity for Will once he joined their voyage. But now, Elizabeth was haunted by James' words, his respect and support of her bold, young, difficult self. Despite - or perhaps, _because_? - her mischief and unwillingness to quietly submit to the societal expectations her father knew she would have to learn to endure. James' willingness to see the good in her, to convince herself of her own goodness, her worth.

She held the drawing, processing that James Norrington had deemed it precious enough to keep safe, to take it with him where he went, all these years. Her hand shook as she read the words once more, memorizing them, not just for the comfort they brought her, but knowing they might prove useful in the near future. She folded and re-tied the drawing, setting it back in the drawer and shaking her head, incredulous.

A _sparrow._

At once, Elizabeth was acutely aware the ship was no longer moving _._ She bolted out of the captain's quarters, sending an officer who had been standing silently outside the frosted glass doors into a fright, bounding across the quarter deck. Isla Muerta rose out of the sea on the starboard side, the grey-blue water quickly turning to black as twilight fell. She breathed a sigh of relief.

"Ah, I see you've been recruited, love!" A far too cheery greeting met Elizabeth's ears as Jack Sparrow himself waltzed up from the bow. "Or perhaps that's just what a Commodore's wife be wearin'." He leaned over the side of the ship, peering up at her narrowed eyes, her mouth pulled back in a scoff.

"You are too bold, Sparrow." Elizabeth was in no mood to play. "Will is in there, look -- the _Pearl_." She looked around and saw Norrington and her Father descending the stairs from the poop. "We need to go, _now_." She could see the cursed pirates in the distance disembarking upon the rocky shore and moving towards the cave. She strained, looking for Will, but the figures were too far away. She desperately hoped the falling darkness would hide the _Dauntless_ before any of the pirates noticed.

"Don't you fret, love. You can count on me. Though I can promise you sweet William is going to throw quite a rock in your little arrangement with Herrington."

Elizabeth glared at Jack. "You know nothing of my arrangement with _Norrington_ ," she snapped. "And what do you mean - count on you?" She realized that his hands were no longer cuffed. He winked.

"We've made a little arrangement of our own, ol' Norripoo and I. He sends me in there with my little boat, I send back Will all safe and sound. Then I send the pirates out to meet your cannons, and I can skittle-skattle myself away."

"But the curse!" Elizabeth protested. "Will's blood must be shed before the pirates come our way. Just not all of it," she added, as Jack raised an eyebrow. "I'm coming with you. You can't do this alone."

"Out of the question." James' deep voice nearly growled behind her. Elizabeth suddenly felt her father's hand on her wrist.

"Elizabeth, I'm sorry, but it must be done. " She strongly regretted her afternoon nap. What on earth had these men been plotting behind her back? She wrenched herself out of his grip, to find herself held again by two stronger marines.

"No!" She looked at James, pleading, and his eyes were pained again as they met hers, wide and helpless. She watched as Lieutenant Gillette oversaw the lowering of a small rowboat from the davits towards the bow. Sparrow saluted the party and nimbly climbed down. He hopped, skipping the last few rungs and landing in the boat with a clunk, which of course caused an unnecessarily but rather signature wobble.

"You're a wretch, Sparrow! I hope you prove me wrong!" Elizabeth seethed, struggling against the officers. "Aagh!" She growled in frustration. _What does he have up his sleeve? Or is this revenge for the rum?  
_

"Elizabeth! I mean, he is a pirate, but all the same…" Her father, delicate as always. She didn't give a damn.

"I'll miss you, Lizzie. Sorry to miss the wedding. I'd say you'd make a fine wife and mother, but…" Jack shouted back in return, giving a wave and a grin as he shrugged.

Weatherby Swann suddenly reversed his previous proclamation. "How - how DARE, you, you rapscallion!" He shook his fist, frills flying about his finely embroidered sleeve.

"Sparrow, one more word from you and I will take aim and fire myself," Norrington nearly spat. "Remember my conditions. One wrong move…" Elizabeth became aware of a row of marines along the starboard side, all with rifles pinned towards Jack. 

"Have faith, dear Commodore…at least do me the honor of not _underestimating_ Captain Jack Sparrow! " Jack's cry was barely perceptible now, though the sound bounced across the crags. Elizabeth wondered if the _Pearl_ crew could hear it… and if that was part of Jack's plan. Suddenly, she remembered the boats at the stern. She also remembered she still had Jack's pistol, and that he would need it to seek his revenge on Barbossa, which was the only reason she could conceive he saw any point in walking right into the dragon's lair. _Jack, you already made the mistake of underestimating me once before_ , she had told him as the sun had risen. He was echoing that back to her now. He wasn't talking about himself - he was talking about _her_. Elizabeth suddenly relaxed against her captors.

"He's right. Don't underestimate him… He'll bring Will back, I know he will. You're right, Commodore. Jack is the one to do this… Otherwise we would all be in danger." Elizabeth looked earnestly at her father and then at James. She felt no remorse whatsoever as she lied through her teeth. If James could do this to her on his good conscience, she could do this to him. Good hearts sometimes had to play foul. "I suppose there's no use catching a chill out here then… it could be quite a while. "

"Finally, some sense, Elizabeth! Good girl," her father embraced her and led her back under the poop deck. Norrington pressed his lips together, looking unsure, but nodded and moved aside, avoiding meeting Elizabeth's eyes as she passed, instead keeping his gaze on Jack, whose figure could now be seen scrambling towards the entrance to the cave.

The moon began to rise.


	7. Above and Below

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elizabeth makes a mad dash to the Black Pearl with some unexpected help, only to find help is denied her from Anamaria and her crew.An invitation is extended instead. Contains: moonlight, vertigo-inducing situations, vocabulary lessons for pirates, sea shanty harmonies, and unfortunately another cliffhanger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers, thank you for being here and for your incredibly thoughtful and encouraging comments. I am so glad you are here and that anyone is getting any enjoyment or laughs or tidbits to think over from this tangle of a story. Again, I never expected anyone to enjoy it and began writing just to see where it would go. Your support and feedback have been so motivating and inspiring and I thank you deeply for that - and your patience with this WIP! You probably don't trust me by now, but I do say with confidence that we are 3 or fewer chapters from "The End." Which of course, will only be another beginning - don't think Anamaria is out of the picture, by any means! 
> 
> Extra love and thanks to Elle (islacruces) for bearing with my writing flow and reading typo-filled previews as I work things out, and for giving me a sense of direction (and plenty of inspiration!) for where this story ultimately leads... :)

Elizabeth grunted as she hoisted herself upward, her freshly bandaged hand smarting once more. _Blast, that was thoughtless._ She had finally succeeded in clambering into one of the two rowboats hanging from the stern just above the captain's balcony, having been assisted by one of the slender chairs that had until now been sitting rather idly at the mahogany table. Unfortunately, her small victory came with the price of detection from her father's discerning ear.

"Elizabeth? What are you doing in there? Are you even listening to me?" Weatherby Swann's voice inquired in reply to her exclamation, though faint from across the room and through the frosted glass doors to the captain's quarters.

"I'm simply vexed, Father, that's all. Do continue, please. I'm listening." Elizabeth practically shouted in his general direction, careful to keep her voice steady. Her heart strained to leave him like this, not only betraying his trust right under his nose, but leaving his delicate and mortal life in immanent danger. But it had to be done. She and Jack were the only ones who understood just what was at stake tonight, and how it must all end. Until the curse was lifted, they were all in grave danger.

She struggled to work the pulley system of the davits supporting each end of the boat. Elizabeth cursed herself for not studying this process earlier in the day when Gillette had supervised the ascension of the longboat. She was well-versed in the adventure contained in her favorite sailing and pirate novels rather than the mechanics of it all. Had she been permitted to shadow then-Lieutenant Norrington around Fort Charles and the royal fleet as much as she had liked since they had both arrived in Port Royal, she would have had the motivation to read the few, but plump, tomes on the physics and technicalities of all things nautical. Having had no application or avenues for practice, she had lost patience mere pages in to such books, storming off in a huff and wishing she had not been born a girl. That fact was so simple yet so utterly punishing - so _suffocating_ \- as over the years she was squeezed into an ever-shrinking range of appropriate, _benign_ endeavors.

_I could have still bloody read,_ Elizabeth regretted. _Or paid attention this morning, had I not been so caught up with Norrington and Sparrow…_ Determined nonetheless, she managed to loosen the ropes on the right-sided davit. And subsequently lost her balance as the boat clonked downwards in a lopsided manner. This time she held back a yelp as she yanked the rope taught to keep herself from being dumped back onto the chair below. She paused, hearing the thud of her heartbeat pulse through her ears. Her father was _still_ talking, the poor man. _No idea at all_. Elizabeth looked up towards the left davit as she peeled herself from the bottom of the rowboat, only to muffle another shriek of surprise.

A shock of red hair and freckles peered down from the stern. Irwin was watching her with a mischievous grin that threatened to expand into a smile of the most entertained nature. "Needing some help, miss?"

Elizabeth would have been crushed with fear at being found out and possibly restrained, knowing at this point all she appeared to the men aboard ship, likely her father and James included, was hysterical, a danger to herself. _Well, the last part is true, of course. Though not mutually exclusive to the danger I pose to those in my way…_ But seeing as it was Irwin, Elizabeth knew could at least buy some time to think of another means off the ship. She considered jumping directly into the water, as cold as it would be. _I'd just need to swim to the Pearl…_

"If you'd only be so kind," Elizabeth bantered up to the cheerful marine who until now had been so helpful, keeping her voice low. She fully expected to be pulled up and apprehended, so she gasped as Irwin began to assist her down, glancing up at him in shock, her mouth agape.

"I had a feeling you'd be headed off. I would come too, but it would be too suspicious…" He looked behind him. "I'm supposed to be on the middle deck with a cannon as it is. But cannons won't protect us against these mongrels, so what's the use?" Elizabeth looked at him quizzically. _Does he know - how?_

"I saw with my own eyes, when they attacked Port Royal, Miss Swann. I expect I'm not the only one, though many have convinced themselves they was dreaming, or mad. Or perhaps I'm the only other one aboard at the moment who truly saw…" The rowboat was nearly to the water now. Irwin paused. Elizabeth could barely here him, but she understood. "If you don't come back here safe and sound, Miss Swann, I may regret doing this for the rest of my days. Even if my days end here tonight. So do come back, Miss Swann." _Splash_. Elizabeth moved to untie the ropes from each side of the boat, watching them snake through the brass fixings and up towards Irwin as he reeled them in, a barely perceptible but undeniable expression of shock upon his face, far above. _He already regrets it. Bless his stroke of boldness, then. It's too late now._

"I truly thank you, Irwin. We'll put it all to an end - wish me luck… And please, keep my Father safe, if you can!" Elizabeth shouted as softly as she could, before grabbing the oars and beginning to row away from the stern, facing the small figure of her unexpected friend aboard the _Dauntless_ as she made in the direction of the _Pearl_.

"Aye-aye, miss! Godspeed. My prayers are with you!" She caught a final salute before all was lost in darkness and fog. It was just her and the waves, crested with a milky glow from the moon creeping further above in the sky. Elizabeth began to count the rows, peering behind her every so often to ensure her course and catching sight of the faint light emanating from a single lantern lit upon the _Pearl_. _Fourteen….twenty-seven….thirty-eight…._ She would go mad with worry if she allowed herself to think of anything else. Her whole body ached against the exertion, though she found the sensation a welcome distraction. _Fifty-four…seventy-two…_

The waves were gentle and steady, a stillness having fallen upon the rocky bay. At last, Elizabeth's boat was flush alongside the _Pearl_. It appeared utterly abandoned, but she was sure this was not the case, not with prisoners aboard. Unraveling some spare rope neatly coiled upon the floorboards, Elizabeth tied one end to one of the boat's brass loops and wrapped the other around her wrist. She reached for a cannon head protruding from a slot from one of the lower decks, which fortunately made it extremely easy for her to re-board the dreaded vessel _. I suppose undead pirates think they can afford to leave their ship quite open for visitors?_ Once she had squeezed herself inside, Elizabeth tied the rope to a fixing on the cannon, grateful she had at least acquired this skill. _I'm sure Father still has a veritable gallery's worth of my proofs._ Her chest became heavy. _The brig. Just get to the brig_. She crept towards the stairs, knowing she had to descend a level. She heard harmonies humming from below and made out the deep voice of Mr. Gibbs softly leading a song. Elizabeth smiled reflexively at the familiar sound from many a shanty he led during the crossing of the _Dauntless_ \- songs that had entranced her imagination during the dull journey.

_No_. She stopped at the landing. _Who's guarding the ship?_ She couldn't risk getting trapped as a prisoner here, not again. Not now. Instead of descending, Elizabeth crept up the stairs, her heart leaping into her throat at every unexpected groan in the wood. At last, she heard signs of crew members, again familiar voices. They were standing directly above, on the quarterdeck.

"Right awful lot we've got here, Pintel. Right awful. And them's little shanties are driving me mad, I tell you. Going straight to my head, they are. Can't _stand_ it." Elizabeth knew that voice and could guess who stood beside him. These were the pirates who had personally "escorted" her, as they put it, from the closet she had hidden herself away into Captain Barbossa. The voice at hand belonged to a tall, slender fellow with a wooden eye, who for all his bloodlusting pirating managed to retain an erudite air. It was a strange combination and it made Elizabeth ill at ease yet, despite herself, curious.

"I swear, I don't even know why we put up with it. Once the curse is lifted, I'm taking my service elsewhere. Damn Barbossa and damn this ship." The shorter, balding man it was indeed.

"No use damning 'im and us all twice, eh? We're cursed enough as it is! Just look at us" The two shared a laugh.

"You know what I meant. It just _had_ to be _us_ two, dinnit? No one respects us like they should. This is just the icing on the tort. Everyone _else_ gets to watch the Bootstrap pup pay 'is dues. Bask in the glory as 'is blood falls upon that chest, upon the gold…"

"For the last time, that ain't a chest. It's a _reliquary_. It contains ceremonial _relics_ ," the tall one enunciated with emphasis. "We wouldn't be so damned, if it was 'just a chest,' now, would we? You embarrass yourself, mate. You really do. You embarrass _me…_ OW!" Apparently the conversation had devolved into fisticuffs.

_These are the fools Barbossa chooses to guard his ship?_ Elizabeth shook her head, flooded with relief and the urge to laugh. Descending silently, she looked around for any possible weapons, stopping by the crew's quarters to ransack the hammocks and filling her arms with several daggers, swords, and pistols. _Capital_. She ran as quickly and lightly down to the brig as she could, the humming harmonies accompanying Gibb's voice quickly coming to a stop as they heard her footsteps.

"It's Elizabeth!" Gibbs pressed his face against the bars.

"Shh, keep singing, immediately," Elizabeth implored with a whisper. "You've two guards aboard, and it's driving them mad. Which means they can hear you, so if you stop, they'll be down directly… Is everyone alright? Where's Ana?"

Gibbs moved aside to reveal a grinning Anamaria Pereira, humming deeply as the former crew of the commandeered _Interceptor_ followed her lead and Gibbs started another song. A stream of dried blood clung to the side of her head, crystallized garnet upon her dark skin. Elizabeth noticed one of her sleeves was torn. Her stomach fell as the memory of being thrown to the crew of the Pearl threatened to overcome her. She had escaped a terrible cruelty. Had Anamaria? She reached through the bars to take Anamaria's hand in hers, receiving a hearty press in return. "Shh, I'm alright, Lizzie. Hardly a scratch. They threw us in the brig immediately, and it turns out I've quite a loyal crew in the making here. They practically barricaded themselves against the door." 

"We wouldn't let them." A rather small man stated defiantly. Several others murmured in agreement and disgust. Elizabeth still felt as if she would be ill as she imagined the scene.

"But they tried. And you're hurt." She started picking at the lock with a hairpin she had stowed in the pocket of her uniform before leaving the _Dauntless_. She was shaking, seething. "Tell me, was one of them the tall one with the wooden eye? Or his balding friend? If so…"

"No, not them. Please, let's just get out. I'm happy to see you, Elizabeth - I knew you'd be back." The lock released, and Elizabeth swung the door open, picking up the weapons she had let fall from her hands and offering them to the newly freed men as the poured out of the cell, still humming. She met Anamaria's eyes, dark and vast. Incredibly sad, yet alive and burning in a way Elizabeth had seen in no other. Last to exit the cell, she swept Elizabeth into an unexpected embrace. Elizabeth flushed at the intimacy, and then at herself for concluding that it was intimacy. As if they were not both women in what would be deemed quite _inappropriate_ circumstances to begin with, starting with their current attire. Elizabeth returned the embrace warmly, relieved to find her friend safe.

"We must trap the pirates." She pulled back. "Lure them down, and ambush them. We'll need the keys to the cell."

"Nothing we can't handle. It's fourteen of us, now you're here." Anamaria scanned her crewmembers, who stood at the ready. Elizabeth was awed that, as a woman, Anamaria commanded the respect and loyalty of twelve men (well, thirteen, if the parrot sitting upon an older man's shoulder counted). Had she more time, she would have given anything to learn how that came to be.

"Better than a crew of thirteen, of course. Mighty unlucky number," Gibbs added in between verses. Elizabeth had forgotten how superstitious this man was. Even after sailing across the Atlantic with _a woman aboard_ , as he had always referred to Elizabeth, and serving under Anamaria, and surviving undead pirates. Then again, perhaps his experiences had given him good reason for it.

"Oh - no, I'm not joining your crew…" Elizabeth responded as she realized what he implied. "I'm…." _Not a pirate_ , she had almost retorted, before thinking better of it. "I need your help." She immediately regretted this, as the faces around her soured considerably as each realized they were seen as means to and end which they had no interest in. In the span of a heartbeat, Elizabeth felt the air in the brig shift. Silence fell. "Will is in danger! Ana - please. Help me."

The Interceptor crew started moving about, several men blowing out the candles in the already gloomy brig's lanterns, leaving only one aflame in the furthest corner. Six or seven men climbed the stairs to the next level, ready to pounce upon the pirates. Gibbs placed a gentle hand upon Elizabeth's shoulder as he and Anamaria exchanged a glance.

"What about Jack? He's cornered between Barbossa and the Navy as we speak. He needs your help, too! " Elizabeth pleaded into her friend's face, which had chilled considerably.

"Jack can take care of himself, Lizzie." Anamaria was resolute, almost laughing. "He got himself into this mess, and he can get out."

"He does owe us a ship," Gibbs added, nodding in the dim light. "And then there be the codes. It wouldn't be right."

_The codes?_ Elizabeth let herself laugh. "The codes? Really, Mr. Gibbs? The _codes_? You hold yourself…? - You know, they're more like guidelines - " _SCREEECH_! Everyone froze as a spidery shadow dashed across the landing. The cursed monkey the _Pearl_ was so fond of must have sensed the commotion below. The bright moonlight illuminated its descent. Whispered curses proliferated from Anamaria's crew.

"Lizzie." As the men prepared to ambush, Anamaria grabbed Elizabeth's wrist. Elizabeth tried to pull away, angered. Anamaria held firm, so she pulled her up the stairs behind her as the young woman followed, holding strong. "I'm sorry, Elizabeth. I won't risk it. Not with the chance to take the _Pearl."_

Reaching the landing, Elizabeth spun around, looking down at the unwavering Anamaria two steps below her. Elizabeth's eyes responded to hers with a fire of their own as she succeeded in extracting her wrist from Anamaria's grip. "Will's life is at stake. I have to save him. Jack can't do it alone. And if you won't help me, so be it." The monkey was still screeching and now bounding back up to the quarterdeck, no doubt to alert its masters. "I should have known you wouldn't understand." _You're a pirate, just like the rest of them. Only in it for yourself._ Elizabeth strode towards the cannons, into the shadows, hastily untying the lead she had secured.

Anamaria crouched beside Elizabeth, who refused to look at her. "No, Elizabeth. It is you who does not understand. And you cannot. I pray that you won't ever have to." She paused, rising as Elizabeth moved towards the opening to climb down. Elizabeth finally turned around. "I would ask you to come with me, to join us," Anamaria said, a sly smile for a brief moment replacing the tender grief that had passed across her face. "But I see now is not the right time. The invitation will hold, when you change your mind." _When? So bold to assume._ Yet Elizabeth could not stop a smile of her own from escaping.

"Oi! What's all this, then?" Suddenly two pairs of feet were heard scrambling down the stairs into the belly of the ship. Elizabeth squeezed herself out and hopped into rowboat at once and Anamaria fled into the shadows. A few moments later, an outcry rose from the brig, several notable thuds, and the sound of iron hinges slamming shut. Cheers followed. By then, Elizabeth was nearly to the bow of the ship. She heard a feminine cry and looked up to see Anamaria leaning over the quarterdeck railing, as a small fuzzy mass fell overboard and splashed into the water. Anamaria waved at Elizabeth with a tricorner she must have snatched on her way updeck before securing it over her dark locks and assuming a very captainly stance, one hand on her cocked hip.

"We'll meet again, Elizabeth Swann. You won't regret freeing us. And if you see Sparrow, tell him the _Pearl_ has its eye on him. It might save that bloody hide of his. There are souls yet to save - you tell him that!"

"I will, Ana. Goodbye!"

Elizabeth paused to wave back, pushing down the rising melancholy in her throat mixed with raging frustration at the utter lack of help and waste of time the _Pearl_ had cost her. Her nerves buzzed as she forced herself to count the strokes again. The _Pearl_ grew smaller as she rocked upon the waves as she moved towards the rocks and the ship began to retreat ever so slowly. Its singular lantern went black, and Elizabeth knew the ship would soon be completely invisible to both her and the crew of the _Dauntless_ , the black vessel cloaked by the night The moon itself was retreating behind misty clouds, which Elizabeth hoped sufficiently shielded her from the eyes upon the _Dauntless_. Her absence must have been discovered by now.

The boat crunched to a stop upon the gravel of the black shore, joining the company of Jack's boat. Across a stretch of water lay five of the six ship's boats of the _Pearl_. _So…_ she calculated, blanching. _There could be over sixty cursed pirates inside._ She looked around, wishing for a better place to hide the boat, but the meager strands of shore on either side of the water leading into the mouth of the cave were the only viable options against the unwelcoming walls of rock and crags protruding from the water's depths. As she leapt off the bow onto the stony shore and dragged the boat out of the clear, calm water, Elizabeth noticed the lack of sound coming from within the cave. Her heart fluttered with hope as she took a breath and placed a hand to her chest where Jack's pistol lay secure. She traced the familiar path into the cave, a narrow strip of rock hugging the moist walls on either side of the water.

The silence growing ever more unsettling as she proceeded deeper into the darkness, a flickering glow from the inner chamber just managing to light the walls of the tunnel with dancing rays reflecting the gentle rippling of the water below.

What she saw in that water caused Elizabeth to stifle a scream of horror. 


	8. Blood Ties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will Turner prepares for his immanent death, reflecting upon the past and present and uncovering a troubling fact about his mother that complicates things with Barbossa. With the help of two friends, the tides change, even as loyalties are seemingly forged...and betrayed. If you're looking for closure, you'll find (most of it) here. Contains: sadness, flashbacks, heartbreak, parental ties, shocking hot gossip material, French, angry pirates, pirate nostalgia when Empire Gets Real, poorly (well, barely-) described swordfighting, spiderman Lizzie, things that go BOOM, blood, minor gore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried so hard to split this chapter up, but we have been waiting this whole time for the action. Because Will's story also needed to be told, yet we needed some closure, everything is in this chapter of over 4,000 words! I shall leave it to you to split up as works best for you.
> 
> There remains some unfinished business, which will be included in an epilogue of sorts, though much more shall be divulged in my next project (Prologue coming very soon) that can be read as a sequel to Drawn to the Waves, but is so canon-divergent that it deserves its own space. Such is necessary when the focus is Anamaria and her sisters! :)
> 
> As always, I appreciate your time and attention and presence on this journey so much. Knowing that anyone is reading and potentially enjoying my work is so exciting and inspiring and I am happy that something that has brought me joy and kept me awake way into the wee hours of the morning many a night can be shared and enjoyed with others. (And at the same time, I've been kept up late many a night READING other amazing original works that are so humbling - and again, inspiring!) Warm fuzzies and gratitude all around. 
> 
> Okay, enough rambling on top of a 4,000 word chapter.

William Turner did not resist the force that pressed him towards his bitter fate, instead striding with head held high in between the two pirates that brusquely held his arms, his hands still tied behind his back. Aware these moments may be his last, he placed his awareness in the crunch of the black gravel beneath this feet as they approached the cave, in the crisp and cool air of the evening that brought a chill to his chest, still warm and pulsing with life. Looking back, Will hoped to catch a final glimpse of the moon but was met only with the settling darkness as it permeated the sky above and the waves below. Several pirates preceded him and his escorts, lighting the passageway into the watery cave with blazing torches. Upon crossing the rocky threshold, Will immediately felt a sense of oppression. He was now closed in on all sides by stone and three score of cursed pirates eager to see his blood spilled. 

He was glad to be away from the rest of the _Interceptor_ crew, at least. Down in the brig, across from their cell, locked in one of his own, Will could not escape their looks of pity, their attempts at comfort in offering words of solace and curses directed at the crew of the _Pearl_. Will had nodded and smiled kindly, not wishing to be ill-mannered, but had wished more than anything they would just leave him be. There was nothing to be done, and his thoughts were far more concerned for Elizabeth’s wellbeing than his own. If he was to die, that was nothing. He was young, but had known so many who had died long before reaching twenty. Will himself had nearly perished eight years earlier, and had since then lived without family, his father dead, his mother likely the same. Will was painfully familiar with the fact that life was cruel, and until late, he had learned to expect very little of it. 

But Elizabeth Swann was the one shining light in his lonely world, and now she was trapped god-alone-knew-where with Jack Sparrow. _All because of my stupidity, my brazen rashness._ Will was inundated with guilt and self-directed rage. The fact he had climbed aboard and saved Elizabeth from the hands of the _Pearl’_ _s_ crew mere moments after being propelled from the exploding _Interceptor_ , water still spilling from his lungs, was no matter. Was no excuse. He had been all passion, and no reason, and thus had failed to adeptly negotiate with that damnable Barbossa, instead securing three certain deaths when he had only intended to offer his own. _Stupid, stupid._ Will regretted much, but most of all, that he could not take her place and suffer the slow death that she now faced. But he could not save her now. _Elizabeth will never forgive me._ _And_ _I deserve it._

The worst part of all was that Will had no excuse – he should have seen this coming. 

While he had pretended to be shocked when Elizabeth had presented him with the cursed gold medallion the morning before, unsure how she would react to his lineage after her recent experience with pirates, Will had recognized it immediately. A spectre haunting him from a past he had believed he had escaped. He remembered the cannonfire, the smell of flames devouring the powder magazine and human flesh alike. Those dreaded black sails, the ones he his mother had counted on deceiving by sending him onto the _Princess_ with the medallion to sail far away from their Carolina home. He had cried, clinging to her, begging to stay with her, but she had remained firm. _William, mon cher, you have to go. This is the only way I can protect you now._ He had understood the pirates attacking Charles Town to the south were after him, after his father's blood that ran in his veins. After the golden medallion that his mother wore at her breast. Nadine had decided to give herself and the medallion up to Barbossa in the hopes of saving her son's young life by hiding his existence from the pirates and sending him far away.

_G_ _o, chéri. I will_ _find you_ _– Florent will keep you safe._ _Et ceci._ She had pressed a palm-sized length of smooth driftwood into his hands, which he deposited into a pocket. _My love is with you, William. Souviens-toi._ Nadine's firmness dissolved into body-heaving sobs on the dock as they parted, unsure of where their fates would lead them. In her distress, Will had nimbly removed the medallion from her neck, thanking the layers of modest puritan fabric shielding her skin from his warm fingers, thanking her hands which cradled and shielded her damp eyes from his handiwork. He had not been about to let his only living parent sacrifice herself on his behalf. 

As the _Princess_ had moved away from the dock, Will had watched with tears still streaming from his face as his mother clutched her chest, no doubt meaning to clasp the medallion, finding only empty space. He was haunted by the silent fright upon her face as she glanced back towards the _Princess_ , towards her son. _"_ _Run away, maman_ _!_ _Don’t give up!_ _"_ He had shouted through his tightening throat, seeing her crumple to her knees, at which point he had forced himself to look away to prevent himself from doing the same. Those tears had stung far more than the saltiest seawater, before or since that terrible day. 

Will had practically been glad when the black sails of the _Pearl_ had crept upon the _Princess_ two days into the voyage to Jamaica as he realized the pirates had sniffed his trail. His mother _had_ to be safe, for she would never have revealed his existence. _She had to be._ Everything went black after that _,_ until Will remembered being pulled aboard _the Dauntless_ , barely conscious, numb from the trauma of the attack. His eyes, vision blurry, peered up to see a kind and freckled face. He felt her soft hands examining his hair, his face. Tracing the length of his necklace and suddenly pulling the medallion off his battered body that could not stop her from doing so. He hadn't had the strength to grab it back. Yet, once he had recovered, he had already fallen under the wing of the girl with the kind eyes, completely surrendering his trust to her as he quickly realized the _Dauntless_ was no place to be caught with a pirate medallion. Upon arriving in Port Royal, Elizabeth had been swept out of his reach for nearly a year as Will had settled with Francis Florent and his new apprenticeship with Mr. Brown. _Perhaps it's better this way_ , he had thought, too shy to ask her about it when their paths had crossed again. The medallion was better hidden than ever, after all. Will waited for his mother, watching the horizon and the post every day. For the first three years. _But she never came._ And neither had the pirates. 

_Until now._

Approaching the center of the cave that glittered with the opulence of plundered treasure, Will steadied himself. _So be it._ He would at last be reunited with his father, and perhaps with his mother _. If only I had kept the medallion_ _with_ _me,_ he wondered. _If_ _only_ _I had demanded it back from Elizabeth_ _as soon as I could_ _… they may have never found us… found_ her. Will's escorts shoved him towards Barbossa, who grinned with gleaming, yellowed eyes, like a predator honing in on its prey. He grabbed Will and they made their way to the chest of cursed gold as the cave filled with pirates. 

  
"Before you kill me, I need to know." Will tried his best not to spit the words in Barbossa's face, only just containing his ire in an attempt to pose the question that had nagged him for eight long years. "How did you know? About the _Princess_?" Barbossa raised his eyebrows, taciturn. "Why not tell me? I’ll take your secrets to my grave," Will nodded at the coins, bitterly. 

"Right you are, Turner," Barbossa replied, dead serious. He continued, speaking low. "Well, then. As you must have known, we were searching for your father's medallion, and his blood. We knew he had married a French lass several years before he joined our crew. He never told us, but we had spies everywhere in those days, Turner. Then again, so did your mother. That's how she knew we were coming. She was well hidden. But not well enough." Will's throat caught. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear another word. But he pressed further.

"Did you kill her, then? My mother?" Unable to help it, his eyes swam with tears. Apparently, this made Barbossa uncomfortable, who shifted his gaze, looking out across the stolen bounty and undead crewmembers. He suddenly appeared quite old and very tired, he scars crossing his face mixing with wrinkles. Will shouted this time. " _Did you kill her?!"_ Silence fell upon the cave, the gentle rippling of the canal upon the dark sand now audible. Barbossa slowly turned back to face his captive, taking a slow inhale through his prominent nose. 

"No," Barbossa hissed. "Our spies reported she had fled inland, North. Besides, what good would it have done? It was _you_ we needed." Will's heart pounded. _Is she alive_ _? Where did she go? Why_ _didn_ _'t she_ _ever_ _writ_ _e_ _?_ He swallowed sharply.

"Then why destroy the _Princess,_ if you knew I was aboard?" Will questioned. “Why did you risk losing both the medallion, and my blood?”

Barbossa sighed in exasperation, the fingers on his free hand undulating through the air in irritation. "Bates. That bloody fool," he spat. "That unauthorized grapeshot cost us eight years. Eight years on top of four years of suffering. EIGHT YEARS MORE!" The cave roared to life again, angry, bitter voices resonating and echoing. Barbossa grasped Will with both hands now, looking him in the eye. 

"But now," he panted, "it's over." Raising his voice, he addressed the crowd. "Silence!" His order was obeyed. 

"Twelve years we have suffered, but tonight, we shall live once more. Feel the air upon our skin, the blood through our veins, taste the sweetest fruits, become inebriated with the finest drink. We curse the traitor Bill Turner," the crowed hissed and booed. "Yes, indeed. Yet we also thank him…" Barbossa had withdrawn his scabbard, and gently slid its blunt face along Will's temple and cheek. Barbossa grinned again, but eyes did not smile. "For his fruitfulness." The cave resounded with hoots and snickers. 

Will's face burned, but he did not struggle. At least he knew his mother had escaped Barbossa and the _Pearl_ … perhaps she was living still. As Barbossa pushed him down over the chest, drawing the knife to his throat, Will closed his eyes, seeing only Elizabeth's terrified face as she glanced back at him after having been pushed overboard with Jack, speechless as she kept her head above the water, before he was pulled down to the brig, away from the dearest person to him in the life he had known for those eight years that had so tormented the crew of the _Pearl_. Will fought to find a happier memory, imagining Elizabeth’s radiant smile, those freckles, her bright eyes… 

"Wait." Will looked up at Barbossa out of the corner of his eyes, careful not to move his neck against the blade. "You're not telling me everything. Eight years? Why so long? Didn't you have spies everywhere… you would have heard of an unexpected survivor of the _Princess_ , wouldn't you?" Barbossa strengthened his grip. “Unless, perhaps, someone interfered…” 

"You are testing my patience, boy. This ends now." 

"Tell me. What have you to lose?" Will's tongue lapped across his lower lip, challenging Barbossa. The captain broke eye contact once more, looking down. Will was confused. _Did he… know her_? 

"I look like her, don't I?" Will’s boldness grew each moment his death approached. Though the cave was silent, the air hummed. Several impatient men voiced their impatience. 

“Oi, what’s the holdup?”

"Get ON it with!" 

"Vaya, hacerlo!" 

At last, Barbossa yielded, his voice barely perceptible, his lips hovering above Will's right ear. "Fine. Yes, Turner. It turns out your father not only condemned me and my crew to over a decade of wretchedness, but he swindled my fiancée. The coward kept it a secret from me – I didn't know it was Nadine until they'd found you in Carolina. Traitors, both of them." Barbossa spat with venom in his voice. "And cruel creatures, they are, womenfolk.”

"You… _loved_ her. She broke your heart." Will stated rather than asked, incredulous. "No wonder it hurts to look at me." His mind was swimming with questions. How had they met? How had Nadine ended up with his father? _And what does it matter,_ _now_ _?_ _I’_ _ll be dead_ _in a moment_ _._ _I’ll either enter oblivion, or I’ll be able to ask my father._ Will desperately hoped it would be the latter. Meanwhile, Barbossa was bristling, silent. 

“On en a _assez_!”

  
“Oui, assez! Vite!”

"Come ON, then!" 

"Yes, enough!” Barbossa snapped back up to his full stature, inadvertently yanking Will upwards as well. “Say goodbye, William Turner. Do pass along my fondest regards to your father." 

Will felt the blade, now warm from resting so long against his skin, begin to scratch the left side of his neck. He took in a breath and welcomed darkness as his eyelids squeezed shut. S _o this is it, then._

"I wouldn't want to be doing that, if I were you." A familiar voice rang out through the heavy air.

Gasps and confused shouts puttered through the cave, eventually swelling into a cacophony of protest. 

_It can't be. I'm simply going mad,_ Will told himself.

"Why, you little bastard." Barbossa whispered with a mixture of shock and disgust without relaxing his grip on Will, who now dared to peek at the newcomer. Despite all odds, it was he. Jack Sparrow himself was idly meandering through the flabbergasted crew of the _Pearl_ , flicking off their advances and moves to grab his arms as if they were irritating insects rather than undead monsters. In confusion, the crew simply turned back to their leader, allowing Sparrow to proceed towards the chest. He took his time, picking up and examining several sparkling specimens of plunder – a chalice here, a strand of jewels there. Holding a necklace up to his chest, running his hands across a snow-white fur that looked softer than Caribbean sand, purring in approval. 

Will's mouth hung open. He could hardly believe what he saw, yet his heart leapt with hope for the first time since Elizabeth had been thrown overboard. _Is she safe, then?_

"Impossible," Barbossa muttered. 

"Improbable, but _not_ impossible." Jack's face was uncharacteristically barren of mischief and cheek, his eyes burning dangerously instead. Will knew better than to let his guard down against the infuriatingly clever man on any day. But when Jack cast away the charm and playfulness that effectively distracted from his impregnable inner life, when the veil was briefly drawn, Will was prone to shiver, as he did now. Jack was a good man, that he knew from both the help he had offered Will in coming after Elizabeth – and in knowing that his father’s loyalty had so strongly laid with Jack, strong enough to seek revenge for Barbossa's mutiny so many years ago. However, _good_ was not mutually exclusive with _extremely dangerous._

Barbossa rolled his eyes, his whole head moving in tandem. “Well, Jack? What are you doing here? Just _why_ don’t we want to be lifting the bloody curse?” 

"Might want to take a peek outside, Barbossa. You have some company. Kill the lad now, and you may not live much longer, once life is returned to you." 

“Explain yourself.” At last, Barbossa yielded his grasp on Will, allowing him to stand tall. Will wished to rub his tender neck, but settled for stretching it upwards catching a patch of the starry night above in an opening in the cave above, though the pinpricks of light quickly dissolved back into obscurity. Clouds were moving in. He looked back down at Jack, dying to ask about Elizabeth. 

"Turns out there was a nice little rum stash on that island. Clever Lizzie burned it all up, and the Royal Navy was on us in no time at all. Turns out their whole fleet was out searching for her, what with being the Commodore's darling fiancée. Of course he was mightily relieved to see her safe and sound, not a scratch." Jack looked at Will knowingly, as if speaking to him directly. "Well," his black eyes slid towards Barbossa, " _a_ scratch, thanks to you. With the lovebirds all settled, now the Navy's seen it fit to come after the _Pearl_ – a double victory for the Commodore, aye?" The crowd flew into an uproar. 

"Only because _you_ led them here,” Barbossa hissed with fury. “It's high time we get rid of you once and for all. The gods shall receive an extra sacrifice tonight, for your trouble, Sparrow. Gentlemen, restrain him." Will's heart fell once more as Jack Sparrow was held back by no less than three rather larger crew members, giving no sign of struggle as they searched his form, finding nothing. “No longer a pistol to you name?" He laughed coldly.  


Will struggled to breathe. _Fiancée?_ His stomach had turned to ice at those words, crushing the momentary joy he'd felt upon hearing about Elizabeth's ingenuity. Elizabeth had said nothing about Norrington, had given no hint whatsoever that she was engaged, that… Will couldn't say it to himself. _That she doesn't share my feelings._ _And even if she did…_ He swallowed, and steadied himself against Crawley. Will's body felt heavy and frozen as he accepted that he had allow himself to hope for something altogether out of his reach. Had lost himself in his dreams, and in doing so had failed to see reality for what it was. _Of course. It makes perfect sense. How could she choose me… why_ would _she choose me, now she knows I'm a pirate by blood, the very thing her beloved fiancé swears to wipe out from the world he has at his fingertips, while I… have nothing_. _I_ am _nothing._ Will fought back more tears, fixing his gaze upon the bright glow of a nearby torch and pressing his lips together.

Several men shouted from the front from the front of the cave, having confirmed the presence of the _Dauntless_ just offshore. At this, Barbossa pushed Will away from the chest, into the arms of a tall, dark crew member Will knew by the name of Crawley. "He doesn't move from this place," Barbossa ordered to his lackey, and proceeded to stride towards Jack and pick up one of his beaded dreadlocks, twirling it through his bony, long-nailed fingers. He practically towered over Sparrow. “Well, Jack? Why are you here?”

"Well, as the plan stands, I'm to send back young Turner here to the _Dauntless_. Alive." Jack spoke softly and slowly, raising his chin on the last word. "Then, Commodore Norrington intends to blast you all to smithereens before you can re-board the Pearl. Take all survivors prisoner to be hung in Port Royal directly. Claim the fastest vessel in the Caribbean for his onesie." 

Barbossa slapped Sparrow's beaded hair back into his face as he huffed in anger at the idea’s audacity. Then he laughed, a terrible cackle through the cave. Nervously, the crew followed, bubbling into a contagious pandemonium. "Jack, I really must thank you,. Had you shown up a moment later, we may well have found ourselves…vulnerable." 

Jack agreed. "Precisely. Use your… _condition_ , as it were, to your advantage. One… last… time. " He dared to stroke his fingers over the Aztec gold to his left, and finding himself unrestrained in doing so, scooped up a handful, turning his hand over as the coins _clinked_ , falling back into the collection. Irritated, one of his escorts yanked him away from the chest. 

"But why, Jack?” Barbossa continued, narrowing his eyes and drawing his full stature upon Jack once more, "Why would you stop us, when we were a moment from lifting the curse? What could possibly be in it for you at this point? I am positively _dying_ to know." This time he slowly took hold of Jack's blouse in a most menacing manner. 

"I may despise you, Barbossa." Again, Jack took his time, letting the silence stew as every man in the room hung on his words as he dropped them like the first swollen drops of an afternoon rainstorm. "But we're more alike than we are different. We are both pirates, are we not?" He looked around the cave. "Being a pirate, I would have faced Norrington's noose. Once you became living men again, you all would, sooner or later. The _Pearl_ would be destroyed, or worse, appropriated into the Navy. We would no longer simply not be tolerated… we would be erased, mates." Jack wriggled an arm free from one of his captors and placed his hand upon Barbossa's still clutching his shirt. "I'm not proud to say it, but I've run out of escape routes, Barbossa. I know my time is up. I did play you well, you have to admit…" A cheeky grin flashed upon his face for the first time that evening. "But I'd rather die a pirate's death, knowing the _Pearl_ remains sovereign, than die at the hands of a Crown I refuse to live under. Than see my ship under that Crown when I could have kept it afloat in freedom, even should it cost me my life." Jack lowered his voice to a whisper only perceptible to those gathered immediately around the chest. "You understand, Hector?" The cave was heavy, a solemnness hanging in the air. Will was confused. Sparrow sounded so honest, so raw, and there was irrefutable logic to his stance. Yet, could it be true – _Jack Sparrow, out of options?_

Barbossa's eyes lowered, considering Sparrow's words. He released his hands from Jack and stepped back. "Aye, Sparrow, we understand each other." He turned to the crew, still silent and gazing with anticipation for orders. "Well, gentlemen, we shall have to resume our ceremony later this evening. The _Dauntless_ awaits. It's time for a _walk, s_ ays I." 

The crowd cheered, raising and gathering various weapons around them, as they swarmed towards…and _into_ the canal, disappearing from view as they walked straight into water, letting themselves be submerged by the liquid darkness. Barbossa nodded at Jack's captors and all but one slinked towards the darkness, leaving the largest of them – _Bardin,_ _yes, that was his name_ – to hold Jack. Barbossa waved his hand, and Jack was released. "Just keep on eye on him, will you. See he _remains_ unarmed."

Will's numbness snapped back into crystal-clear awareness sharpened by fear. Until now, he had though, had hoped perhaps Jack had a plan. "Is Elizabeth on that ship?" _If she is, it's too late._ W _e'll all be murdered now. Jack should have never come back – this is all his fault._ No longer willing to calmly submit to his fate, Will shook against Crawley, succeeding in moving several paces closer to Jack.

Barbossa gave a bitter chuckle as he started to pace the length of the cave, his steps beginning to fill the long minutes of waiting that lay ahead. Crawley and Bardin glanced at each other and snickered. Meanwhile, Jack's eyes darted to Will. "One answer to that question, William, is yes, but – " 

"You’ve doomed us all, Jack." Will had no more patience for this man. "I trusted you.”

"Funny thing, isn't it, trust?" Barbossa circled back towards the four men. "Learning what heartbreak and betrayal taste like all in one night, are we not, Turner? This time fate places the boot on the other foot. Pity, is it not? So willing to die for a lass who will never be yours..." Will ignored him, though the slight stung him deeply. But it wouldn't do to spend his last minutes giving Barbossa satisfaction, or hissing back that heartbreak already stained his whole life. 

"Indeed, it is, Hector, indeed it is." Jack's eyes remained fixed on Will's. Again, Will was apprehensive of Sparrow in his seriousness, the way he would become nervous around Mr. Brown's various cats at times when their friendly, playful temperaments were usurped by their predatory nature, the buildup of carnivorous energy and its release through a fatal pounce, claws outstretched… Jack once again began examining the treasure around him as Barbossa was doing, walking about under the vigilant eyes of Bardin and Crawley. To the side of the chest of coins, on Will's left, Jack bent over and picked up a large swath of indigo fabric, a cloak of sorts. Will thought perhaps his eyes were playing tricks on him, as Jack's eyes widened for a split second, seeming to feel something in the cloth. Still gazing straight at Will, Jack grinned and flashed a wink his way. 

"Pity when trust is placed in the wrong hands. When those hands are _ready_ …." Jack's eyes seemed to signal Will to move to the left. Will was unsure what was going on, was beginning to realize perhaps Jack Sparrow _indeed_ had something up his sleeve. "Ready to stab you straight in the back …. at the most _unlikely_ moment." 

In a blur, Jack Sparrow rushed Crawley, sweeping the cloak over his head and cutting Will's hands free with a dagger. Jack then pressed the dagger into Will's hand and pushed him aside, wrestling with Crawley. Bardin dashed to grab Will, but was slowed as he found the dagger plunged deep into his left shoulder. This bought Will a second to find a jeweled-handled sword among the riches, which allowed him to engage in defensive combat, though he knew his opponent could not be conquered. _How long will this go on?_ Will wondered, his reflexes responding like clockwork, adrenaline pulsing through his limbs. 

Meanwhile, Barbossa had joined the skirmish. Jack had seized Crawley's own sword and in doing so had put some space in between himself and the larger man, moving towards the canal, only to meet his archenemy pointing a gun at his heart. Jack froze, staring at Barbossa's finger on the trigger. Crawley halted as well. 

"You never know when to give up, Sparrow."

The gun went off, followed by a scream. 

Will looked around. 

Jack Sparrow, unharmed, smiled.

Barbossa's eyes widened in understanding and disbelief, fixated on the medallion Jack displayed with his left hand. 

Crawley ran towards the source of the cry. 

With Bardin battling Will, Barbossa's back was left open for ambush, which is exactly what Elizabeth Swann did.

She had approached with the utmost silence, pistol in hand, with as much adeptness as Jack Sparrow's ability to control his facial features so as not to betray a single reaction at her arrival from behind a pile of treasure. Her attack started softly, smoothly, an agile hand sneaking into the breastpocket in which she knew Bill Turner's cursed medallion would be resting safely. She snatched it and dropped to the ground, a flash of red and white rolling out of reach of Barbossa as he growled and swung around, drawing his sword. As he did so, Jack pricked his fingertips left fingertips and dropped his medallion, just in time to catch his pistol from Elizabeth, who rolled to his feet. She plucked up the coin spattered in still-warm blood and darted to her feet, running to Will, who had understood enough to advance back towards the chest, keeping Bardin's eyes occupied. 

"Bardin! The medallions – stop them!" Cried Barbossa, but it was too late. Elizabeth had ambushed again, this time not so gently, shoving Bardin straight into Will's sword. Together, they threw him down from the mound, into a rivulet of water, giving them mere seconds to lift the curse once and for all.

"Now, now!" Elizabeth breathed, shaking, pressing the coins into Will's left palm, the very top of which he scratched with the tip of his sword. A stream of bright red trickled downwards as he released the cursed gold. The debt and blood-stained interest was now paid in full. 

A terrible moan echoed from Bardin below, his wounds suddenly fatal. 

Elizabeth took Will's injured hand in her own, brushing her lips across the top, and Will gathered her in his arms. She buried her face in his chest, closing her eyes as the cave reverberated with another shot.

It was over. 


End file.
